Caring is Creepy
by Josephinee
Summary: He'd always loved her. Said he'd marry her one day. And then, suddenly, out of the blue, he's there next to her cousin - on a wedding invitation. RW/SM/LP.
1. Prologue

Loosely based on My Best Friend's Wedding.

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended. All recognisable characters/scenery belongs to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

She still looks the same – or maybe she's even prettier than before. Perfect straight, auburn hair. Perfect almond-shaped, caramel-coloured, innocent eyes. Perfect line of snow-white teeth showed off by a perfect bright, bedazzling smile. Perfect cheekbones, rosy tinted cheeks, not one freckle in sight. It's a really, really nice picture of her (although, admittedly, _every_ picture of her is really, really nice) and the camera simply seems to drink her in. She's obviously confident and all-round happy as hell, and her giggling and winking gaze say it all. She's got it. Sunshine in one of those over-prized bags of hers. Lily Potter is one of the lucky ones.

It's nice to know some things never change.

Although they do, don't they?

Because next to Lily stands a boy – or should I say man now? He's tall, 6'1" if I'm not mistaken, but not sluggish. Definitely not sluggish. He's muscular but not too much. He's also extremely blond – blond to the point where you start wondering whether he charmed his hair – and he's got this nonchalant, messy cut that he constantly runs his hand through. He still has this haughty, supercilious lop-sided smirk that makes you want to strangle him and – well, fuck it – he's still gorgeous past all belief. Aristocratic model-face. That kind of beauty. Like a marble statue. So yeah; Scorpius Malfoy is one of the lucky ones as well.

That's still the same. That's the part that hasn't changed. Lily and Scorpius have always been part of the lucky ones. The only difference now, is that, well –

Now they're one of the lucky ones _together_.

On a bloody _wedding invitation_.

Honestly, this was a great day. I mean, I went to class this morning, got back a paper I handed in three weeks ago, and received a top mark. The professor even came to congratulate me in person, said it was marvellous and exceptional and that in the four years I'd been in this academy I'd proven myself to be a brilliant student again and again. After that my friend and I decided to go out to celebrate (any excuse a good one, I suppose) in a new Muggle club, and got our number asked five times. That's a funny thing, you know – "Can I have your number?" Because, hey. _I don't have a phone_. If it weren't for my grandparents on the Granger side of the family, I wouldn't even know what a phone was. But, what I'm trying to say; it was a great day.

Until the moment I Apparated home, stumbling, and had a familiar owl waiting on the windowsill.

Fancy envelope. Eggshell. Expensive material. I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T.

I didn't know what to expect, really. I was sort of drunk, euphoric, and truly content with who I was. I'm virtually never truly content with who I am, despite of what people seem to think of me. I'm a flawed person – you should know that. I may be 'brilliant' and perhaps even really pretty, but I'm flawed. And I own up to it. So yes; my insecurities often get the best of me and urges me to run. I love people and I love the world, but they frighten me all the same, and that's the issue. I tend to run. Away. From the ones I care about. I'm flawed. But tonight I didn't feel flawed and tonight I was ecstatic and tonight I got drunk and then –

_Lily Luna Potter  
and Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy  
request the honour of your presence  
at their marriage. _

Blah, blah, blah.

I've never been sobered up so quickly in my entire life.

After I recollected my jaw from the floor, I tried to breathe. Because that had gotten kind of tricky. Do you know that feeling? That tightening of your throat that makes your supply of oxygen fall out, simply because you're so indescribably _shocked_? Yeah, well. I sat down in my couch, counted to ten, and waited anxiously for my family to pop out from under the table, or whatever, and yell out: "Surprise, Rose! We got you there, didn't we? Ha, ha!"

But it never happened.

And I'm still waiting.

Truth is, when I noticed the Malfoy owl sitting on the windowsill, I thought of many things. But a wedding invitation? Bloody hell. What a blow. A blow that feels like a fucking bullet that has just splattered all of my body substances over the place. Or like an avalanche raided over me, perhaps. You expect one flake (an apology for not writing me for so long, a reprimand for not writing _him_ for so long), and out comes an entire snowpack (a _wedding invitation_).

So.

Lily and Scorpius.

My cousin and the boy who was supposed to be my best friend.

I stare at the flames dancing in the fireplace. I haven't seen her in ages, and it must have been two years since he visited me here. America. New York City. Prestigious magical Law School. Exclusive and expensive. Only for the brightest. Yeah; to say I was happy that I got into this university would be the understatement of the century. I Apparated here almost as soon as I got the letter. I mean, it took me a while, seeing as it takes everyone a while to get the permission to Apparate that far. But still. I couldn't be gone fast enough. My parents were really proud as well. Claimed they'd miss me, but oh, well. The opportunity! The _one_ chance! The _greatness_!

Scorpius was the only thing that made me reflect on the decision twice.

The thing was, we were inseparable. He and I. Scorpius and Rose. The Wizarding equivalent of Bonnie and Clyde. Best friends since our first year at Hogwarts – that kind of thing. And he loved me. Really loved me. Said he'd marry me one day because he was the only one that would ever put up with me for so long and vice-versa. Because he was beautiful and so was I. And because of that – that and all the other great things we shared – I didn't worry too much when I left. He'd write me and I'd write him, he'd visit me and I'd visit him, and of course, he would still love me when I returned.

_Damn it. _

His wedding is in eight days.

And he didn't even bother to tell me before everyone else.

I close my eyes, stop staring at the fire. With the invitation burning in my hands, I make a decision. I feel as if my heart's been ripped out from under my chest. I had a best friend that worshipped me – _me_ above _everyone else_ – and I ruined it. But he's still there. And he's wedding is in eight days. Which, consequently, means that I still have eight days. Eight days to turn this around. Eight days to unburden myself. Eight days.

And so, I make the decision to leave tomorrow.

To go home.

* * *

It's only a prologue, but feed me your thoughts!  
-Josephine


	2. Monday

Thanks for the reviews, everyone :)

**Disclaimer:** no copyright infringement intended. Belongs to JK Rowling.

* * *

_Nothing can come close  
To this familiar feeling  
We say it all without  
Ever speaking_

Moloko – Familiar feeling

* * *

**MONDAY**

Home.

When I spoke about home, I never meant my flat in New York. When I spoke about home, I meant here. Close to London. Big house, lots of windows, a few balconies. Enormous garden. The place where we used to play Quidditch before I outgrew that phase and started to hate the one thing everyone was always so obsessive about. The place where Lily and I actually sunbathed during the Summers, until I realised that I was a hopeless case and unlike Lily, my creamy skin would never tan. The place where I put up a tent when I was fourteen, because I wanted Scorpius to sleep over and my parents didn't know him yet. He never actually came over (frightened out of his wits, naturally), but I slept in that tent for two weeks.

That was home to me.

The strange thing is though, that I don't have that feeling now. I'm facing my house – the same house I lived in for seventeen years – and I don't get that feeling. I don't feel home. I remember that every time I returned from Hogwarts during the holidays, I felt a certain... safety. Security. Because I was home with my parents, and I finally had a place to myself again (my room, that is), and I didn't have to worry about professor McGonagall catching me when I was out past curfew. Safe and secure, yeah.

But I'm not fifteen or sixteen or seventeen anymore.

Instead I'm twenty-one, I don't have to worry about insignificant things such as curfews anymore, and currently I'm dreading the moment I'll have to open this oh-so familiar door and step into the one place I haven't seen for so long. I'm scared, to be honest. I'm scared because – _damn it_ – I don't have that home-feeling anymore and I don't _want_ it to be shattered. I don't want it to be an illusion. I don't want to be that grown up that I have to find my own home now. I'm twenty-one. This very moment I feel like I'm twelve again. Then again – in a way I wish I still was.

"_Rose_? Is that _you_?"

Yes. That's supposed to be me alright.

I turn around with the biggest fake smile I can muster and find my mother – frizzy-haired as ever – gaping at me with eyes in the size of a Quaffle. Hermione Granger. Hermione Weasley. Most brilliant witch of our age – until I came anyway.

"That's right!"

She wastes no time. She drops the bag she was holding, jogs up to me and wraps her motherly arms around me. It's nice. It's a fraction of the home I thought I'd lost. I smell the scent I must've smelled like myself before, and it's strangely comforting. It's the same. Unlike Scorpius and Lily getting married – that's still the same.

"Honey!" She almost-squeals. "How come you didn't tell us you were coming back?"

I pat her back vaguely. "For the sake of surprise, I suppose?"

"Fantastic!" She puts some space between us, cups my face. "But shouldn't you be... I mean, was it okay for you to just leave your school like that?"

I nod. "Yeah, well, they understood. Marriage is big, you know."

There. Five minutes and I've already lied twice to my mum. I didn't tell my school anything about the wedding, because I refused to speak the words out loud to anyone besides my family. Would've made it more real. So I simply called in sick, even though they probably _would_ think marriage is big. I don't. I'm a girl that believes is statistics, and they happen to proof that ten percent of the marriages in the Wizarding world don't make it. That's one out of ten. What's that supposed to tell me?

"I know," she replies. "Strange, huh? Lily and Scorpius?"

I can't help but snorting. "Merlin, no. Could've seen it coming from a mile off."

"Glad to hear your sarcasm's still intact," she eyes me meaningfully. Then she picks up the bag next to me. "Come on, I'll help you carry your stuff."

"Yeah," I say. "Thanks."

* * *

I could single-handedly Avada my own mother right now.

Apparently she thought it would be a great idea to celebrate my return (never mind the fact that I'm not really _back_ to begin with) and thus, invite a handful of people. People that are also called family members. Fan-fucking-tastic. _Just_ whom I wanted to see. When I expressed my dislike for that plan, she merely passed me a swift glare and tsk'ed.

"Rose Weasley. You never did anything other than party your head off. So stop complaining, lady."

Yes, mum. Alright. That was _before_ Scorpius decided to marry _Lily_.

It's the truth though. I like parties. I'm the partying type. You're probably thinking I'm pulling your leg, since there's no way that Hermione Weasley's daughter can possibly be the party type, but I swear to you on my future grandmother's grave that I'm being honest. I'm not uptight. I don't regard rules as something Holy and Untouchable. The only thing I got from my mum are her brains, the vertigo that enables us both to fly properly, the shape of her doe eyes, and the curly hair. But that's where it ends. Even though people seem to have a hard time understanding that.

I'm not my mother.

I'm not my father either.

Horribly difficult concept to grasp, isn't it?

The parties are also the reason why I never made Head Girl. That's right. I never made Head Girl. I admit it surprised me somewhat when I didn't get the badge – because, hey, nobody, except for Scorpius maybe, even came close to my intellectual capacity – but when I encountered professor McGonagall about it, she told me I'd misuse it. Said I didn't 'fit the description'. Claimed I'd probably invite boys to my room and hold secret get-togethers for my friends. Assumed I hadn't even _heard_ of the word 'responsibility'. Ended her speech like this: "You never fought for that title, Miss Weasley. There are students in this school who are far more deserving of the privileges, because they've actually _made an effort_."

That was that.

The fact that I never made Head Girl probably made my parents even more eager to ship me off to America. Not to get rid of me, I mean. Just to prove the world that I could live up to everyone's expectations.

But anyway. I'm losing the subject.

The subject being the party my mother wants to throw for me.

"Mum," I say, watching her, quite irritated, as she hurriedly Scourfigies the litter on the floor. "I don't want this. I don't feel up to it. I'm kind of nauseous from the long distance Apparation."

She stops in the middle of a spell and turns to look at me worriedly. "Are you alright? You can lay down on your bed if you like. The problem is that I already sent out the owls."

"I'll just…" I rub my temples in contemplation, when suddenly something hits me. "Did you invite Scorpius?"

"Of course. He's been a part of this family for years, and now that he's getting married to Lily…" she trails off thoughtfully, and then narrows her eyes slightly. "You don't mind, do you?"

"What, that you invited them?"

"That he's marrying her."

I scowl at her. "Why would I?"

"Well, it's always been you and him, if you know what I mean. Up until recently."

"Yeah," I nod, yet decide to keep the horror to myself. "But he deserves it. They both deserve it. Whatever gets them happy, you know?"

She smiles one of her million-dollar-genuine-smiles and steps forward to kiss my forehead. "You're a wonderful friend, Rose."

I swallow down the guilt. If only she knew…

"Thanks, mum. I'm going to bed now, alright?"

And then I leave the room.

Running.

Always _running_.

* * *

"Rose! _Rosie_!"

That voice. Haven't heard it in ages. It comes when I've counted the ninetieth crack in my ceiling.

"Please refrain from calling me _Rosie_, Louis."

"Whatever. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

The next second he's in my room. His hair is shorter, and he looks older. More grown up. Less scrawny. But he still has that stupid grin, and he's directing it at me now. I feel something blossoming in my chest – relief? – and open my arms. He strolls to my bed, sits down on it, and falls into my embrace. We've been here many times before, and fuck it – I'm so, _so_ glad suddenly.

"Damn, I missed you, Rose," he sighs in the crook of my neck. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"I missed you too, mister," I reply. "Like you wouldn't believe."

And this time I'm not lying.

Louis Weasley is my cousin, and has always been one of my best friends. Maybe not to the extent of Scorpius and I, but still. One of my best friends. Silly yet responsible Louis. I _missed_ him. He was the one that put up with me when Scorpius and I were fighting. The one that bought me chocolate frogs when I was PMS'ing. The one that carried both Scorpius and me to our rooms at four in the morning when we'd secretly been playing drinking games in the library. Louis was, and hopefully still is, the solid one. Whereas Scorpius and I were the more... tumultuous ones, Louis remained solid. _Always_.

"So why aren't you upstairs?" he asks after we pulled away.

I look down at my feet. "Not ready to face the frenzy yet."

"Since when haven't _you_ ever been ready to face the frenzy?" He puts his arm back around shoulder and gives me a scrutinizing once-over. "Don't lie to me."

I roll my eyes good-heartedly. "What is it you want to hear?"

"Scorpius isn't here yet."

"What?"

"That's why you're not downstairs, isn't it? You didn't want to see him."

"What is it with you people today?" I exclaim indignantly, wondering if I'm that transparent. "My mum asked me the same thing earlier!"

He chuckles slightly. "It's Scorpius, Rose. You know, the one that used to be your _counterpart_?"

"Things change, Louis," I remark casually, ignoring the growing lump in my throat.

"Yeah, but Rose and Scorpius?"

"Things _change_," I repeat firmly. Then, softer, "Want to know something funny, though? He once said something about that. Change. Us. He said there if the earth would explode and the world would be reverted back to a bunch of cells and microscopically small elements, we'd still be there, as a duo. Seriously. That's the way he said it."

Louis looks disturbed. "He told me that too. When he was drunk."

"Yeah well, that kind of leaves the options open, huh?"

Not that Scorpius has ever been an alcoholic. He just liked to make fun. Often.

"Rose." Louis keeps wearing the Grave Face. "It was after you left. Remember when we dropped you off at the station, and you guys started imitating one of those annoying PDA couples?"

Ah, yes.

That was kind of funny, actually. Scorpius and I had the habit of making fun of people and their beyond ridiculous sentiments. We used to send each other anti-Valentine postcards on the thirteenth of February, just to boycott the whole ordeal. Sometimes he randomly popped up in my room during the Summers with a rose in his hand, and instead of giving it to me, he plucked the leaflets to answer yes or no questions. So when that dreadful moment of goodbye arrived, we attempted to keep it light by doing what we did best. Making fun of PDA. He kept hugging me, and I kept blowing my nose, wailing for him not to leave. It was hilarious.

At least until the moment that I really _was_ gone.

Then the fun part was over.

"Well, after you left something strange happened," Louis continues. "He just... kept laughing all the way home, like a madman. And just before we arrived he suddenly stopped and said we needed to find a bar. He was so... _different_, that evening. Passed out, even."

I blink. I never heard that story. Scorpius certainly never told me.

"I never cried."

"What?"

"I never cried in America. Not once." An unsettling feeling in my gut pops up. "I never cried, because we agreed not to make a big deal out of it. I often felt the need to cry, but then I remembered our agreement not to... become sentimental about it, and then my eyes dried up again. In the end the watering stopped as well. Like I'd ran out of tears I never cried in the first place."

Louis shakes his head, pushes a lock of red hair behind my ear. "You two are so fucked up, you know that?"

"That's the main reason we were best friends," I try to crack another grin, but it vanishes as soon as it came. "Louis... Did I ever hurt him? Like – _really_ hurt him?"

Louis isn't looking at me anymore when he replies. He's staring at the one wall of my room that's completely covered with pictures, and his voice is low. "You hurt him all the time, Rose. But when you left that evening? You completely broke his heart."

_Completely broke his heart. _

An overwhelming lump is growing in my throat. Why didn't I _ever_ know that? I mean – I couldn't expect him to _tell_ me or anything. But why have I been so blind? Why in Merlin's name have I been wearing _eye pads_ for the past four years? I knew he loved me. I knew he was _in_ love with me. But I always... took it for granted. Thought I could have my fun and afterwards he'd still be waiting. It's not like he acted like a pathetic love-sick fool. As I told you before – we _mocked_ all the silly lovey-dovey stuff. We both went out with different people all the time. He had girls queuing up for him and he was a bastard to them all the time. So why –

_You hurt him all the time._

"Shit, Louis," I mutter, trying my hardest not bang my own head against the wall.

"He doesn't blame you. But I do think you have go downstairs to say hello to his fiancé and the rest of your family."

I smile sadly. "Yeah. Probably."

He jumps off my bed and stretches out his hand. "Come on. We've got a wedding to sabotage."

* * *

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

_Oh my – Rose? Hello, Rosie! Merlin, Rose, this has been such a long time! How are you? How you've grown! Such a beautiful lady! Your hair's shorter, isn't it? Law school still that fantastic? Let me embrace you! Come here, Rosie. You're still my little girl! Prettier than ever! We're so proud of you! _

Blah, blah, blah.

The moment I've stepped into the dining room everyone's been all over me like I'm a piece of cheese and they're the mice. It's strange and good to see them again, though. My family. The people I was constantly surrounded with. The Weasleys and the Potters. I stand in front of the big table while everyone is gushing over me – Louis has placed a comforting hand on my back – and try to ignore the fact The Future Wife of Scorpius Malfoy is in the room as well.

Unfortunately Lily doesn't seem to have the same plans.

After passing through all my family members, I am eventually faced with her. When she walks towards me, her stiletto heels make an annoying clicking sound, and she elegantly shakes her hips like she's always done. Lily Potter is, like I said before, undeniably beautiful, and she's the embodiment of sophistication. Plant a crown on her head and she'd make the perfect princess.

"Merlin, Rosie! You look so _marvellous_!"

Those are her greeting words.

You know, if Scorpius really had to go and fix himself a fiancé, couldn't he have picked someone... less likable? Less nice? Less gorgeous? Less smart? Less _blood-related_?

"Hey, Lils," I even manage a real smile. "Speak for yourself."

Then Mum interrupts us. "Is that the doorbell I hear?"

No.

_No, no, no. _

I feverishly scan the room for any missing family members, but as I already thought, everyone is present. Mum, who seems to have the same realization, comes to me and says: "Go open it."

_You wouldn't be able to ignore him if you tried. _

Inhaling deeply, I march towards the hall way, closing the door of the living room behind me. The loud volume of their voices is immediately drowned out. There's is a thumping in my chest and hands are getting clammy and – why the hell am I so bloody _nervous_?

It's just _Scorpius_.

Same old Scorpius I used to play Wizarding Chess with.

(Yeah_ – but back then he wasn't engaged, was he?_)

Before my nerves can get the best of me, I put my hand on the door handle and push it downwards. I close my momentarily, count to ten, and then open the door. A zillion questions race through my mind in process. Will he be different now? Will he be someone else? How will he react upon seeing me? Will he still like me? Will he still _love_ me? Will there still be a fraction of what we used to have?

"Rose?"

Rich, smooth drawl.

I avert my gaze from the ground (he's wearing polished dragon leather shoes) to his face. He's staring at me with an unreadable expression, his metal eyes drawing me in. His mouth is uncharacteristically in a straight line – no traces of a smirk whatsoever. That sets me back. I don't want him to just _look_ at me. I want him to do something. Something familiar. Something that indicates that we're going to be alright.

Because, fuck, he's so beautiful.

He's still so purely, aesthetically beautiful.

"Hi," I quietly say.

And then he _finally_ reacts.

He takes a small step forwards, lets his hand trail over my bare arm. Serenely, calmly. Cool and collected and composed, like I know him. He keeps holding my gaze and I keep holding his and in a way I feel like I want to remain here forever. On this spot. Frozen. With him. Because – that's love, you know? Appreciating the smallest gestures, the littlest moments? And I do. Love him, I mean.

"Shit, Rose," he whispers, and pulls me towards him like he's done so many times before.

I sink against his chest, his chin on top of my head. His scent is still distinctly his, and exactly like two years ago. Mix of cologne and detergent. I'd say I want to smell it forever, but then it hits me once more. He's getting married. To Lily. Which means I won't be able to wake up to this smell ever again.

"Engaged, huh," I mutter against his shirt, "big step."

It takes him so long to reply that I initially believe he hasn't even heard me. But then he sighs in my hair and presses me closer.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

And after that silence befalls us, and we stay still. In each other's arms. In the door opening. This is how it's supposed to be. Scorpius and Rose. It's always been fucking Scorpius and Rose. Our names and faces complemented each other for _everyone_. For the whole world. So why am I only seeing this now? I'm not saying we should get married (ah, the irony) or something. I'm not saying we should start a life-long commitment right now (because, hey, we both suck at that. Or at least I thought we both did until he decided to tie the knot). I'm only telling you that we're _inevitable_. And I _will_ make him see that.

I can't do anything else.

Because for the first time today, I feel _home_.

* * *

I can't promise a quick update after this one.  
It might take me a while.

Let me know what you think!  
-Josephine


	3. Tuesday

So I decided to continue, thanks to the nice feedback. I probably won't update frequently though, simply because I can't find the time.

(Oh, and by the way, I know that in the real epilogue Albus and Rose are nice to each other. I shamelessly ignored that fact. Boo-me.)

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. JK Rowling owns the majority of the characters, & I used ideas from the film My Best Friend's Wedding. Boo-me again, hooray.

_

* * *

_

I spent my days and I spent my nights  
Going over every second of the time we had  
Going over the scenes and going over the dreams  
But tripping over all the edges of reality

Zita Swoon – Thinking about you all the time

* * *

**TUESDAY**

Tongue tasting like sand-paper.

Monkeys clapping cymbals together in my head.

Yeah, I _know_ this feeling. Waking up with a hangover is something I'm quite familiar with. The only difference is that usually, I don't wake up _alone_. Which – as I recall correctly – is actually the reason why I'm hung over in the first place. Last night was _not_ a blast. Yes, I got to see my whole family and Scorpius again. But other than that?

_Hello_ Lily-and-Scorpius-lovey-dovey-marriage-fest!

Groaning, I sink deeper into my pillow. Remind me that next time I decide to _love something_, I ought to fixate my affections on an object. An _object_ isn't capable of rejecting you, and an object certainly can't marry someone else. Sure there'll be a media frenzy over my sanity – as always – but hey, at least I won't be sabotaging an upcoming _wedding_ then. I'd welcome St. Mungo's with open arms if it meant that I wouldn't have to face the reality of seeing Lily _feed_ Scorpius _mousse au chocolate._ No joke. She actually stuffed a fucking spoon in his mouth yesterday. He did look a bit uncomfortable – to his credit – at her nauseating behaviour, especially when I tried to make eye-contact to make my opinion clear on the matter, but _still_.

The last time _I_ assisted my boyfriend eating was... well, _never_.

Dealing with the consequences of trying to flush the visuals from my mind with the aid of wine last night, I sit up straight in my bed. Upon seeing my conscious state, the mirror on the other side of the room greets me politely. I mumble something back, not bothering to look in it. I probably resemble Bridezilla or something.

Oh, but wait! That's _Lily_ getting tied to Scorpius!

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Continuing my journey, I step out from under the covers, nearly freeze my butt off, and walk towards the closet to get some towels. I might need a shower. Fresh water. Brave the day. Ignore the small detail that I'd like to kill myself (in theory, that is.) Come up with new plans. Make life worthwhile. Yada, yada, yada. You know the drill.

A shower it is.

Only then I happen to look at something next to the closet.

My countless books, piled up by magic, are something that beholds a lot of memories. I mean, I've been reading book since I was four. Books are – next to parties, freedom and, _sigh_, Scorpius – my Sunshine, Rainbows and Lollipops. Yes, I know what you're thinking. I'm one of those freaks. But so is Scorpius, and the mutual obsession actually brought us together. Because, even though he's now going to marry a not-so-much-of-a-ditz who's probably read two and a half books during her entire existence, he loves girls who take a liking in literature.

That's where it started.

My first memory of him, standing on platform 9 ¾, is clear as crystal.

I was excited that day – excited out of my wits. Hadn't slept a wink the former night. I was finally going to Hogwarts, you know? The one school I had been desiring to go to for years. The one school where my very own parents had made history. I couldn't wait to discover all the secret places they'd gone to when they were teenagers themselves. I couldn't wait to see the impressive Quidditch field, to swim in the Great Lake, to secretly visit the Forbidden Forest. I couldn't wait to finally get a decent visual for every time my parents told one of their infamous stories. That – and then there were of course the classes. I was eager to learn and ready to maximize my magical abilities. My mother had told me Hogwarts was the perfect opportunity to do so – and thus, I was hopping from one foot to another by the time I was at King's Cross Station. I was even wearing my Hogwarts school robes, long before everyone else.

"Merlin, Rose," Albus had muttered, then, thin as a rake in all his eleven-year-old glory, "you're such a geek!"

"Beats being a retard," I replied between my teeth. I eyed his uneasy face, and added smugly: "A nervous one at that."

Albus and I used to bicker all the time when we were kids. I'd resorted to calling him simpleton on a daily basis, while he went by naming me a stuck-up twat in return. We pretty much remained that way throughout Hogwarts. Not that we didn't love each other. We were family – we had each other's back by definition. I think I just liked the fact that I was always the wittier one of the two, and that he liked the fact that he could always bring out the meanest in me and therefore prove to the world that I wasn't as cool as people seemed to believe I was. We also ran in different circles. Me, Scorpius and Lily? We were part of The Lucky Ones. Albus? Not so much. He didn't care for attention. He was the silent type that didn't feel the need to snuck out after curfew (or hook up with random girls, for that matter.) And so; we failed to bond. Instead we succeeded to squabble our way through the years. We were good at hiding it from our parents too – in front of them we'd made it a habit to shut up. That day on platform 9 ¾ however, dad had used his ears for a change, and turned to us with a frowning expression.

"Rosie, Albus, that not the way you're going to start – " and at that precise moment, something – or rather, someone – else caught his attention. "So that's little Scorpius. Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

I followed his stare.

And nearly toppled over.

I may have been eleven, naive and inexperienced. But even then I knew there was something about Scorpius Malfoy that differed from everyone else. I may not have had the right vocabulary to describe what exactly it was that made me gape at him in wonder, but he simply drew me in. In one blink of an eye I knew that he was the snobby little rich boy to my stuck-up tart, disguised in a white vision of marble skin and platinum hair. He was apparently grumbling to his parents about something, something he later grumbled to _me_ about, but I can't seem to recall right now. He looked a lot like the man towering over him; who, as I learned later, used to be the arch enemy of Uncle Harry back in their school days. The woman on the other side, his mother, resembled the epitome of elegance, with long, emerald robes flowing down her curves. Who knew this boy and his parents would become such a significant piece of my life?

"Ron, for heaven's sake!" That was my mum, breaking me out of my reverie. "Don't turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

When mum looked away, my father put an arm around me and whispered in my ear: "Don't get too friendly with him, Rosie. Your grandfather would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."

Well, what can I say?

Life's full of irony. And not the fun kind either.

I didn't pay much thought to what he said to me though. Marriage is way too big for an eleven-year-old, you know? Too enormous concept to grasp. Truth of the matter is that, right now, it's _still_ too enormous to grasp. The problem is that apparently, I'm the only one looking at it this way. Everyone else is _just_ _fine_ with tying the knot. Good thing I didn't know that that angelic boy would bestow such heartache upon me, or else I probably wouldn't have gone to sit with him that day. The reason I ended up in his compartment was that I'd lost the rest of my family as soon as I stepped on the train. I spent the first ten minutes searching for a toilet stall, and afterwards everyone had seemed to vanish. I spotted Scorpius sitting nearby, holding a book in his hands that I happened to recognise.

"Aren't you pureblood?" I asked, standing in the doorway.

He reverted his eyes – greyest I'd ever seen, as I noticed now – from his book to me, cocking an eyebrow in the fashion he would use all the time later on. "Yes. Your point being?"

Not thrown off by his snobby, drawling voice in the slightest, I walked closer to him. "You're reading classic Muggle literature!"

"George Orwell," he held up the book for emphasis, "is a quality writer. You should read it sometime. When you're older, maybe."

"All men are equal, but some are more equal than others," I quoted literally, taking him down a peg or two. "I _know_ he's a quality writer."

He seemed a bit startled, but then recovered quickly. Closing his book and putting it on his lap, he pointed at the seat on his opposite. "Want to sit down?"

"Well, I don't see my companions anywhere, so okay, I guess," I replied, not wanting to sound too eager. Yet I couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto my face, feeling that this was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

* * *

Two hours later, a little more washed and a little less resembling a monster, and you'll never guess where I am heading to.

Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.

Yes, yes, hooray. The occasion – in case you're brain dead and missed it – is a wedding. The groom was or is (or whatever tense fits here) my best friend and, unfortunately, the love of my life. I don't actually know what 'love of one's life' _means_, but as I recently discovered, there is only one person I see myself spending the rest of my life with, without committing suicide. That person is now getting married to Lily Potter, daughter of famous Harry and Ginny Potter. She's also the girl that's currently walking next to me, clapping her hands like a child and squealing like a teenage girl (which, technically, she might still be.)

"Oh my dear Merlin, I am _so_ excited!"

"So am I!" I adapt her tone, albeit completely fake, and throw in a tearing-your-face-apart smile for good measure. "Man, I can't wait to check out all the dresses!"

Lily hooks her arm into mine like we're best buddies, as she tends to do with everyone. She means it too. You know those Carpe-Diem-People that'd probably skip around all day if that would be possible? That's Lily. The girl I'd _love_ to dislike, but am unable to anyway.

"Me neither! Oh, by the way, do you think Scorpius prefers something traditional or something more... daring?"

_Don't_ do it, Rose.

"You mean for a wedding dress?" I respond. When she nods, I continue: "I think traditional. I mean, that's the Malfoy way, isn't it?"

_Okay,_ so I lied.

Sue me.

"Oh well, he doesn't talk much about his family," she comments casually.

Funny that she mentions it, because she's right. Back in Hogwarts, he had a real knack for avoiding the subject. The only thing that came out of him concerning his family, was how rich he was. Of course I know him better than that, and throughout our time in Hogwarts, I got to learn that he dreaded all the old-fashioned pureblood traditions. Said he didn't want to marry a pureblood, probably didn't want to marry at all. Claimed he hated the fancy balls his mother threw all the time, hated the etiquettes, hated the phony behaviour.

But I guess he never told Lily that. Or else she would've caught my lie.

"I know." We finally arrive at the store. "C'mon, let's go try some awesome dresses."

When I open the door to walk in, Lily unhooks her arm and puts a perfectly manicured hand on my shoulder instead. "Wait."

"What is it?"

"Look, Rosie, I know how important you are to Scorpius, and, well, to me, and I've been meaning to ask you... Would you be my maid of honour?"

I blink, surprised. "Maid of honour? Eh, Lily, I'm neither married, nor mature. Isn't that a bit unusual?"

"I know, but we couldn't exactly make you the best _man_, could we?"

"I suppose not," I say, and when suddenly she hugs me, "Thanks, Lily," I awkwardly pat her back, "I'd be flattered."

"Great!" There she goes with the squealing again. "Now let's go inside to find something fabulous _and_ traditional!"

Man. I'm _such_ a bitch.

We go in and are immediately welcomed with an enthusiastic cheer from a very old Madam Malkin. It's not directed at me. Lily's been a vivid shopper in this store for, well, forever, and she's got the old lady wrapped around her finger. Of course she reacts by greeting Madam Malkin just as enthusiastically. She instantly starts gushing about The Big Day and about her _traditional_ dream dress.

Ha-ha.

Horror. Shudder. Vomit.

"Oh, and of course," Lily adds then, "we also need a dress for our Rosie here!"

"Good, I'll get right on it!"

And there goes Madam Malkin.

When she has disappeared behind a door, Lily gives me her full attention again. When I notice her staring at me, I give her a questioning look. She replies with a small smile, and lays her hand on my shoulder once again. Just when I am about to ask her if that's becoming a pattern, she sighs.

"You know what, Rosie? I've had a crush on Scorpius for a very long time. I never acted on it, because I knew I could never compete with you in his eyes. And I still know that you'll always be his most cherished person on the planet. But I kind of learned how to live with that, because it's me he's marrying now."

I gulp.

"But, what I'm trying to say is that," she goes on, "I really love him. And I'm extremely glad that you're handling this so well. I mean, you're so nice! Imagine you wanting to tear our marriage apart or something!"

And then, Madam Malkin walks back into the room.

_Saved by the old lady._

* * *

Scorpius and I are great duet singers. No shit. The summer after our seventh year at Hogwarts – that annoying period in which you need to determine what you're going to do with the rest of your life – we used to visit this karaoke bar nearly every week. It was a fancy place where the aristocratic part of the Wizarding community sought escape in silly music and expensive drinks. We blended in like canaries against a yellow wallpaper – both celebrities in our own right. And rich, let us not forget. That's usually what you get when you're the heir to a family fortune or daughter of a respected auror and the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Scorpius is probably feeling a bit nostalgic at the sight of me.

Because, somehow, I've ended up in the same place on this very evening.

"So _why_ are we here again?"

That's Lily.

"C'mon, Lily. Don't be such a spoilsport."

That's Scorpius.

"Yeah, it's actually pretty cool here."

That's me.

You get the predicament we're in?

As I said, it was Scorpius' idea. When Lily and I arrived back at the Potter's household, two dresses richer, we found him waiting for us at the front door. While I tried very hard not to notice his dashing looks _again_, he informed us that he had planned a night out to celebrate my temporary return appropriately. That made me want to smash his head in, because, _wake-up call for my favourite Malfoy_, an appropriate night out for that occasion should be spent by the two of us. But, alas, apparently Scorpius has lost a few brain cells while I was away. The funny thing is that Lily hates singing, and he doesn't even seem to know that. That knowledge cheered me up. For a couple of seconds, at least.

"Would you like something to drink?"

I tilt my head up and see a waiter standing next to our table. I'm about to open my mouth when –

"Two Mojitos," Scorpius is ahead of me, "and... Lily?"

"A Manhattan, please," she says, a tad disturbed.

The waiter gives us a polite smile and vanishes behind the bar. It's not one of the waiters we used to know so well. Remarkable how things like that shift and others don't. Your taste in cocktails, for example. Mojito – always Mojito. For both Scorpius and I. Leaves me wondering what he and Lily do when they go out, or how much he knows about her. Not her name or background or stuff like that – I'm talking preference wise. If she likes her coffee black or creamed. If she likes coffee at all. If she thinks green looks better on her than blue. If she has a favourite tree. It leaves me wondering so much, because I know _he_ knows that I love coffee, and that I like it black. He knows I think green looks better on me, and that a willow is my favourite tree.

Yet maybe... maybe that doesn't say as much as I think it does.

"Whoa, Rose," Scorpius pulls me out of my thoughts, "see that man over there?"

I look in the direction he's finger's pointed at. "Is that..."

Lips quirked into a huge smirk, Scorpius nods virulently. I laugh out loud in disbelief. The man sitting a few tables away from us, is someone we had a very, _very_ fun night with, four years ago.

"Oh my... Remember how he came onto me?" I chuckle, as we both keep staring at the thirty-something guy. "How he was all: "Come on, _babe_, I'll show you the time of your life!""

Scorpius starts laughing as well. "Yeah, and then you said _you'd_ show him the time of _his_ life and pulled him onto that stage. Classic, my love."

"I was drunk!" I defend myself, poking his shoulder. "I can't be held responsible!"

"So was I, and you didn't see _me_ stripping on stage, next to a complete stranger, did you?"

"I wasn't _stripping_!"

"You were," Scorpius retaliates teasingly, "or do you have another term for taking off your clothes?"

"Taking off my clothes, maybe?" I respond, infantile as I can be.

Scorpius shakes his head, grinning. "Sorry to disappoint, love, but those are synonyms. Oh, and by the way, I think our dear man has seen you..."

"Merlin, _noooo_," I groan, hiding my face behind my hands. "What a _creep_. He kept saying I was _fiery_."

"You _are_ fiery," Scorpius points out.

"Am not."

"Am too."

"Am not."

"Am – "

"Ahem."

We both look up, surprised at the interruption, and find an annoyed Lily, twirling a lock of hair around her finger in obvious boredom. We look at each other sheepishly, realising that we're in company of, well, his future wife. As I attempt to come up with something to say (as I bet "Oh, sorry, I completely forgot you were here!" doesn't count), am I once again saved. By the waiter, this time. He puts our drinks on the table, beautifully sweeping away the awkwardness.

"So," I say cheerfully, taking a sip from my drink, "Are we going to sing some karaoke or what?"

Scorpius quickly replies, "Well, that depends. Are you going to strip?"

I'm about to laugh again, but then I see Lily's face and decide against it. Instead I come up with something else. "Lily! Don't you want to sing?"

"I don't – "

"Ah, the thrill of karaoke," Scorpius breaks her off, "You ought to experience it, my love. It expands your horizons, widens your prospects, broadens your wisdom of life..."

Lily doesn't seem to find this as amusing as I do. "I hate _karaoke_."

"See? There. This karaoke bar has now broadened my wisdom of life. I have now learned that my fiancé passionately dislikes karaoke," Scorpius continues, pushing her buttons like the charming bastard I remember him to be.

"I can't believe you didn't know that I hate karaoke!"

"Oh, come on. Just sing some stupid song. Get some pre-wedding stress off your chest!"

And then something erupts.

Lily angrily shoves her chair backwards, grants him a death-glare, and her lips are in a thin line. "I don't want to sing some stupid song! I hate singing! I _abhor_ singing! I can't sing for my life!"

"Wow, Lily, calm down," he puts up his left hand in defence and uses his other one to carefully grab her arm. "You don't have to, alright?"

In a small voice, she mumbles, "That's not the problem, Scorpius."

"Then what?"

Lily doesn't bother to answer and simply turns around. Scorpius is clearly baffled. With a mouth hanging open in indignation, he stares as she disappears into the crowd. His brain was obviously cut in half, that I now know for sure.

"It's the principle," I say helpfully.

"Of her not being able to sing?"

"Of you not knowing she's not able to sing."

He sighs. "Women."

"Enigmas all around," I mutter drily. "How exciting."

"Should I go after her?" He asks, ignoring my little jab.

I want to say he shouldn't, and that he could get drunk with me instead. For old time's sake. Or for new ones – whatever he prefers. But he'd see right through my little act, and I can't have him know I want to ruin his relationship. So I simply shrug, "Probably."

And thus, he does what I have done so many times before.

He runs off.

* * *

Ta-daah. Give me your thoughts!  
-Josephinee


	4. Wednesday

I know this has been ages, but I'm suddenly inspired! ANY INTEREST, STILL? I surely hope so, because I intend to finish this. Maybe not as fast as I wish to, but I will.

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended.

* * *

_And I can see our days are becoming nights_  
_I could feel your heartbeat across the grass_  
_We should have run_  
_I would go with you anywhere_  
_I should have kissed you by the water_

Bloc party – I still remember

* * *

**WEDNESDAY**

"So, Rose…"

I snap up my head, startled. It is nine o'clock in the morning, I refrained from drinking myself under the table last night, and I am currently residing in the familiar, comfortable couch in the living room, not expecting anyone to disturb my little happy peaceful island. Therefore, when I look up and find James Potter standing in the doorway, in all his tousled raven hair and tanned skin glory, I grant him a puzzled smile. Wondering what the hell happened to the old days when you couldn't get James out of bed even if a dinosaur stomped over his house, I put the magazine I was reading away.

"So, _James_..."

"We have to talk," he states while sitting down next to me, in a serious tone that I've hardly ever heard before.

Musing about the fact that a serious James is not a good James, I shrug. "Yeah, sure. All ears."

"I don't want you ruining Lily's wedding."

That's well harsh.

Good morning to you too, bro.

I look at him, hoping he doesn't see the slight faltering in my smile. "Sorry?"

"Yesterday I came home," he starts, and I have a feeling I already know where this is going, "and I find my sister, crying. Now, why is she crying?"

"It seems to me as if you're _very_ eager to tell me," I remark casually, even though we both know _I_ know exactly why. But if he wants to play the game like this – implications, insinuations, allegations – then fine. It's what he'll get.

It's _James Potter_, for God's sake.

I spent years gluing the broken hearts he left in his wake. He was all about fun and games, hardly caring about the damages he caused and therefore never experiencing the consequences of his actions. He's rude and obnoxious – _and_ he was my friend. We didn't really make a point of contacting each other while I was residing in America, because it wasn't like that, and I don't _do_ sentimentality, least of all with James. But we had our shining moments (the party we threw at the end of my fifth year and his seventh has become a _legend_ in Hogwarts), moments that were nothing if not reckless, and that's why I'm currently genuinely surprised at his apparent change of heart.

"You _know_ why, Rose," he says, annoyed. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that I come home, five days before her wedding, and I find her crying, just after she's gone out with _you_ and _Scorpius_?"

"I see your point, but I'm not the one to blame," I defend myself, and thank God this is actually true. Lily's outburst was due to Scorpius's inconsiderate nature, not mine.

A once in a lifetime experience – but not really.

James, however, doesn't appear to see it my way. "Oh come on. You're not exactly known for you morals, Rose. There's a reason you're not a Gryffindor."

"Who are you and what did you do to James Potter?" I shoot back, my eyes squinted in upcoming vexation. "You're hardly known for _your_ morals either. The only reason you're a Gryffindor and I'm not, is because I happen to be a whole lot smarter than you."

I expect him to be offended, but he merely snorts at my comment. Then he immediately steers the conversation back into the initial direction. "I'm still me, okay? I like you, I always have. But Lily's my sister. I know sensitivity is a foreign concept to you, but she actually _is_ sensitive. If Scorpius dumps her, it'll break her heart."

"Scorpius is my _friend_," I say, my irritation changing towards unease.

"_Friends_," he emphasises, "don't sleep with _friends_."

Says James.

This is hypocrisy at its best. For a moment there I thought my older cousin had somewhat grown up, but how grown up can you really be if you project your own flaws onto someone else, and then pretend not to ever have had those flaws to begin with? I mean, James was the master of the term 'Friends with Benefits'. Hell, he probably even _invented_ it.

And yet, the irony doesn't make his accusation less true.

"That was a long time ago, okay?"

He nods, but only barely. "I just... I don't know if I believe in this marriage, but she just seems so happy, you know?"

"I know," I say quietly.

"And I don't want to take that away from her. I don't want anyone to."

"I understand."

And the thing is, I do. I really do. It's just that my level of understanding doesn't align with my feelings about it. And you know what? I've always, for as long as I've known, been torn between my heart and my head. But things are different, because now it is undoubtedly my heart ruling over my head – and now, my heart wants Scorpius.

No. Scratch that.

It _needs_ Scorpius.

No matter how many levels of pathetic this corresponds with.

"Do you believe in their marriage?" James asks, a scrutinising expression marring his features. Like he's trying to figure me out. Like he doesn't know he never will.

"I am fairly sure," I begin, sighing, "it is not up to any of us to decide whether the foundations of their marriage are valid or not."

And then, out of nowhere, James finally laughs. "God, you really haven't changed, have you?"

"I haven't?"

"Well," he replies, "you still make everything sound like you're the only one who knows best."

"I _am_ the only one who knows best," I say earnestly.

He hits me with a pillow and stands up. "Sure." Ignoring my following cries of pain, he extends his hand, and asks, "Want to grab some breakfast?"

"I'm not making pancakes," I say, taking the hand, and shaking off the guilt the has crawled into my mind once again. "But yes. If you insist."

"I insist," he grins.

* * *

Scorpius was never my boyfriend, nor was I ever his girlfriend.

But we did take each other's virginity.

At the end of our fourth year, James and his friends hosted a Truth or Dare game in an empty classroom, snacks and drinks copiously present. Lily was there, accompanied by her posse of pretty third-years, as were Louis, Scorpius and I. Mary Clearwater, an ex-girlfriend of Scorpius, was invited as well, together with a few Slytherin girls James and his friends considered good-looking enough to fool around with. I thought James's ulterior motives seemed shady from the beginning , but who was I to bail on a cosy get-together with free drinks and scandals-in-the-making?

It was what I lived for.

That, and good grades.

The game started off awkwardly, but became charged with tension as the liquor began to flood (this, of course, did not count for Lily – her brother wouldn't let her near the Butterbeer, in a rare fit of responsibility). After an hour, one of the girls Clearwater had brought turned out to be gay (a piece of information met by loud cheers from the boys, a surprised look from many, and a scrunched up nose from Clearwater), and Taylor Davis had returned from professor Goldstein's office with a stolen potion. Lily, fortunately, told us she was still a virgin (when asked by a perverted friend of James's), Louis admitted he'd had a crush on Goldstein's daughter Alice at one point (as if _that_ was anything new), and Clearwater was still in love with Scorpius (which he did not seem very ecstatic about). Another half hour of laughing later, and then the arrows of humiliation finally hit me. And Scorpius.

Because then, thank you James, we were dared to kiss.

Now, I hear what you're thinking. You're thinking: _what a fucking cliché_. And I know you're thinking it, because I was thinking the same thing. If I remember correctly, I even said it out loud. But then James knew just how to push my buttons (he called me a _wetbag_!), and I ignored the voice in my head that said this had the potential to ruin a sincerely pure and platonic friendship. James threw in an extra mocking "You really are afraid, aren't you? _Oooh_, Rosie!" and I was convinced. In one gulp I downed the rest of my cup, turned to Scorpius, and kissed him square on the mouth.

He was caught off guard.

So was I.

Why, you wonder?

Because an unexpected, marvellous feeling overwhelmed us both. I mean – it was weird. It was weird _kissing my best mate_. But it was also electrifying, in a way, and I felt a strange, unidentifiable shiver running down my spine. Scorpius was not the first boy I'd kissed, but at that point I wanted him to be. Because that kiss would've been a proper first kiss, you know? One that makes you realise that the kisses in all those stupid love stories you read are not merely a figment of one's imagination, but an actual _possibility_.

When my so-called best friend released me, I instantly knew this was indeed the end of our sincerely pure and platonic relationship. A simple kiss, yes, but we both knew it wasn't just that – _simple_. The way he looked at me afterwards was dazed, and it was then I understood his interests in me weren't _exclusively_ friendly.

When another hour had passed and most people had gotten bored with the game, Scorpius offered to walk me to the Ravenclaw Tower. The air was filled with something that differed greatly from our usually loose atmosphere. His hand brushed against mine while we walked up the stairs, and I recall the tremor it awakened in me – even though it meant nothing. When we almost arrived at my destination, Scorpius suddenly came to a halt.

"I am still drunk," he said informingly.

"Yes," I replied. "So am I."

And then, everything happened in a frenzy. His lips were on mine again sooner than I could utter the word "What?", and before I knew it, we were really kissing – like, _really_ kissing. With conviction and passion and like someone could put an end to it any second – so it became sort of desperate. I now know where that desperation came from (we were best friends, we weren't supposed to do this, and once we'd realise that, we'd stop), but at that point I didn't. I might've known it was a rather bad idea, but I felt warm all over and one look at his dilated pupils and quickened breathing later, I was sure I wanted him.

In the end we lost said virginity in another empty classroom.

It wasn't glorious, nor was it magical. First times never are. They're awkward and clumsy and you never really know what you're supposed to do. But the fact that A) we were drunk, and B) already knew each other inside out, did help. In a way, it was _safe_ for me to be his first and vice-versa. He wouldn't throw me away like used goods afterwards, that much certainty I had.

Our 'pure' and 'platonic' friendship, however, did go down the drain.

Things changed, and to this day, I still can't decide whether that's for better or for worse.

* * *

When Scorpius ends up in my living room after James has left, I realise it's for the worse. He tumbles out of our fireplace completely unexpected, almost giving me a heart-attack in the process. He stands up with ever present dignity and grace, and nonchalantly brushes the dirt off his dress trousers. The thing about Scorpius is that he's an incredible snob – he's always, always dressed like he's going to a wedding or something.

Ha. Ha.

"Good afternoon," he drawls, running his hand through his hair.

Maybe, if I'd never slept with him, I never would've noticed how _good-looking_ he actually is, and I wouldn't keep noticing it now.

"You couldn't send me an Owl?" I ask with an arched eyebrow.

He smirks and gives me a peck on the cheek, "I acted on impulse."

"Really?" I can't help but beam, doing my utmost best to ignore the tingling his touch causes.

"Yes, really," he confirms. "Have you seen the weather today? I thought, since we didn't get to talk much yesterday, we could spend this lovely afternoon in your even lovelier garden?"

As I said, Scorpius is a snob. Not only does he like to wear V-neck cashmere sweaters, Oxford shirts, and dragon leather shoes, he also loves to speak in a very arrogant, pretentious and formal manner. Sometimes he fancies himself a character in an Oscar Wilde play, honoured for his dazzling wit, style and enigmatic tendencies. The problem is that most people easily fall in his trap and are inclined to forgive him his flaws, because of his beauty. Truth is, they shouldn't – not really. People love Scorpius for all the wrong reasons. I mean, he doesn't love _them_. He has a _superiority complex_. Very few people genuinely end up in his good graces. Everyone has an image of Scorpius – because he's fascinating; clever and charming – but that's only an abstraction. Sometimes I think I am (was?) the only one who truly knows him.

Sometimes I think I am the only one who loves him for all the _right_ reasons.

But then again, maybe Lily has gotten the chance to look behind his facade as well? Maybe I'm overestimating my part in his life, 'nostalgising' our Hogwarts years?

Shrugging off my thoughts, I smile, "I'd be delighted."

"Wonderful," he responds, resting his arm over my shoulder loosely.

We walk to the garden in silence. I try not to be fixated on the way he is holding me, but I fail miserably. It wasn't like that before – I didn't use to be so focused on everything that took place between us – but that's because I took it for granted, and he wasn't going to_ marry Lily_ back then.

The garden stretches out before us, with spring visible. The grass is green, the trees in bloom. The sun is shining brightly indeed. Scorpius was right – it is a lovely day.

"Where are your parents and Hugo?" He inquires while lying down on the ground.

"Working," I answer, making myself comfortable next to him, "I think. Aren't you supposed to do something productive?"

"Like what?"

"Like, planning your wedding."

He glances at me from the corner of his eye. "I considered visiting an old friend equally productive."

Forcing myself not to dissect what this means, I glance back, "So this is what I am to you now? An old friend?"

"Rose," he says, emphasising, "don't go there."

"Why not?"

"Because you fucking didn't write me for a very long time." There is a shift in his voice. "And that's not what best friends do, okay?"

"You didn't write me either," I all but gasp in indignance.

"It never felt like you needed me to," he says, placidly.

"What did you want me to do?" I frown, not wanting this conversation to go where it is currently heading but not being able to lay off either. "Weep and beg? We promised not to do that, remember?"

"You know, for someone so prone to break conventions and promises you're awfully hard-headed about this one," he says, and almost sounds cold.

Not knowing what to say, I dead-pan, "Fuck you, Scorpius."

"You already have," he replies lightly.

It instantly changes the mood.

I laugh and hit his stomach with the back of my hand. I don't retrieve it, let it lie there. It feels intimate and he doesn't push me away. He never has, and a warmth spreads throughout my body when I comprehend he's not going to start doing so now.

"I'm sorry," I say honestly. "I wanted you to write. I guess I just didn't want to ask."

"It's okay. I should've told you about Lily too."

"Yeah," I agree. "Did you guys solve things yesterday?"

He nods. "I spend the night over at the Potter's."

Disregarding the pang in my chest, I let out a vague, "Oh."

Silence befalls us.

I don't what to do with his revelation, and he clearly doesn't feel the need to talk much. He probably presumes that I already understand everything he's thinking – I used to – but I'm not sure anymore. I'm too preoccupied by my own distress (I don't want to imagine the two of them _sleeping together_) to think of anyone else's state of mind. I can't believe I'm lying here, on the grass, next to Scorpius, with my hand resting on his stomach, knowing that he might never feel for me what he felt before. Knowing that there is a chance, a real chance, that he's actually in love with Lily, my very own cousin, and that he's going to marry her out of _love_. Knowing that I'm unhappy, that I'm feeling corny, that I'm not the sarcastic, invulnerable bitch everyone perceives me to be.

Although, technically, I might still be. I intend to destroy my cousin's wedding, after all.

With good reason.

"_Why_," I utter suddenly, "in God's name are you getting married, Scorpius?"

"_Why_," he mimics in a silly voice, "in God's name are you asking stupid questions, Rose?"

"Fuck you," I repeat.

He sighs and waits a good two minutes before speaking up again. "I think I love her. That's why."

"You _think_?"

"How can you ever know something like that with complete certainty?"

You told me you loved _me_, you _prick_. You didn't say "I think I love you" – you said "I love you". No questions marks. No doubts. You said it like you were _sure_.

"I suppose you can't."

"No."

I close my eyes. "Lily though? Really?"

"What about her?"

"She's upbeat. She's happy. She doesn't read. She's a _romantic_." I spew the last word like it's an insult. "I mean, _she fed you mousse au chocolate._"

Slightly agitated, he defends, "Well, she cheers me up. I know she's not you, alright? I _know_."

"I didn't mean it like that," I say softly.

I meant it exactly like that.

"Yes, you did. It's precisely what you meant. Don't bother denying it."

"You know," I start, groaning, sitting up, "I really don't why you're here. You're being a bastard. We used to be cooler than this."

Looking at me with his one hand shielding his eyes from the sun and his other calmly travelling up my arm, he shakes his head, "I wanted to see you." He tugs at my sleeve like a child, and has the guts to actually _pout_. "Come lie down again?"

"Why should I?"

This is useless.

_Resistance _is useless.

"We can watch the clouds?" He suggests. "You're my best friend. If I can't watch the clouds with you, then who's there?"

_Lily_, I want to say bitterly, but I swallow it back down.

He's won me over.

Tables have turned.

"Come on," he presses. Then, uncharacteristically gentle, "I missed you. You're sitting next to me and I _still_ miss you. I want to get rid of that feeling."

And now I'm lost, completely.

I look back at him in full honesty. Honesty I haven't felt in a very long time.

"Yeah. Me too."

* * *

Thoughts?

-Josephinee.


	5. Thursday

I was so inspired it's not even funny. I love that a lot of people were still interested!  
Hope you don't find this chapter too boring, because there's a lot interaction with Rose's family/friends. It's just that for the first time I find it interesting to write her family dynamics.

I feel guilty for uploading this so quickly, since the next update probably won't occur so soon... but still.

**Disclaimer**: don't own blah blah blah.

* * *

_You are my sweetest downfall  
I loved you first, I loved you first  
Beneath the stars came fallin' on our heads  
But they're just old light, they're just old light_

Regina Spektor – Samson

* * *

**THURSDAY**

"You're not really sabotaging anything, are you?"

I tear away my gaze from the book I'm reading and turn my head towards my sandy-haired cousin. He's sitting in the fauteuil next to mine, looking at me with a thoughtful expression. It occurs to me that it's way too early for another interrogation and frown.

"I suppose not."

"I thought..." He pauses, stuffs a chocolate frog in his mouth, "I thought you felt like undermining Lily's wedding."

I grab the candy box from him and say tonelessly, "I did."

"Then what?"

"Then nothing. And now shut up. We're in a library. This is a sacred place."

True fact.

My mum, chief executive Book Freak in the company of Book Freaks, has created her own library. It's the biggest room in the house, with so many shelves you need a ladder to get to the highest. There is both a Muggle and magical section, ranging from fiction to autobiographies to non-fiction to school books to scientific research. My mother has an unhealthy obsession with anything that contains a cover and sheets of paper, and this is the main reason why I love her. We don't exactly see eye to eye on many subjects, but at least we'll always have books as a common ground.

"There's no one here but us," Louis says, impatiently. "I want to talk. I'm bored."

"I just don't have a plan, okay?" I snap, closing my book.

"Well, make one up."

I roll my eyes. "It's not that simple. I never thought I actually _needed_ one."

"So, what?" He raises his eyebrows. "You thought you could waltz in here and swipe him off his feet and that would be it?"

"What else is there? Kidnapping Harry so he can't give his daughter away?"

Louis laughs curtly and shakes his head, "I meant, you're not going to _tell_ him?"

"Tell him what?" I ask, knowing very well what he's on about.

Now it's Louis's time to roll his eyes. "That you love him, you moron."

A shudder of horror runs through me. The sheer stupidity of only the thought itself!

"Of _course_ not."

"So basically, you just expect Scorpius to blow off his wedding just because you're here for a week?"

Well.

If you put it like that...

"I'm not dignifying you with a response," I say haughtily, ostentatiously looking the other way.

Louis gets up and stands behind my chair, putting his hands on my shoulders. Next to my ear, he says loudly, "You. Have. To. Tell. Him."

"No. I. Don't," I object, and add drily, "You must really love Lily, being so eager to break her heart."

"You know I don't like her."

Another true fact.

After our infamous Truth or Dare game, Lily went out of her way to tell the entire school Louis had a crush on Alice. In turn, Louis went out of _his_ way to tell everyone Lily was frigid. A year later, Lily retaliated by making up a rumour that Louis had an erection deficit. It refrained him from getting dates all over the first semester of his sixth year. He therefore proclaimed he would knock Lily off her high horse, even if it was the last thing he'd do. But that was literally _years_ ago, and somewhere in between, both of them grew up. At least, Lily did.

"Don't tell me this is still about that stupid rumour," I say disbelievingly. "Even you wouldn't be that infantile."

Leaning on me from behind, he titters, "I love you too. And no, it's not about that. It's about her trying to get his attention the minute you're gone, like... like some desperate _whore_."

"She's not a _whore_, Louis," I tss'k, but can't help it and continue between my teeth, "Whores get _paid_ for their services."

Yes.

I am bitter.

But, to my credit, Lily really did her best to prove she _wasn't_ frigid. In fact, she probably dedicated her entire Hogwarts career to it.

"Well, well," Louis cracks a grin. "There's the Rose we all love and adore!"

"Too bad I'm not that person anymore," I remark in a dead voice.

He ruffles my hair in an all too familiar manner, "What are you talking about?"

"The Rose we all love and adore _died_," I grimace. "I'm a reformed person now. I am _in love_."

"Please," Louis snickers, "don't fool yourself into thinking you haven't been in love with Scorpius _your entire life_."

I gasp in aversion, "How dare you suggest -"

Louis suddenly cuts me off by pressing the palm of his hand against my mouth. "Shh," he says quietly, "I think I heard something."

Which is of course completely ridiculous, since we're nor breaking nor entering illegitimately. But considering the circumstances it is indeed unadvisable to keep up the conversation. Imagine Scorpius walking in on his friends discussing the tardy tendencies of his future wife and the unresolved feelings his best mate turns out to have for him. I, being said friend, would jump into a closet and subsequently die a shame-related death, by not venturing to come out and therefore starve of food deprivation. My body would rot as ungracefully as bodies are supposed to decay, and when people would find me, they would start to sob and wail, "She used to be _so_ pretty."

Or something along those lines.

Fortunately, it's not Scorpius walking in. It is the Reigning Queen of the Library herself, Hermione Weasley, with exploded hair and visible bags under her eyes. The woman works too much – let me tell you.

"There you are," she says when she sees us. "Hi Louis."

"Aunt Hermione," he smiles, subtly removing his hand. "How are you today?"

"Not too wonderful, to be honest," she replies tiredly.

I send her a questioning look. "What's up?"

"We're setting up some things for the wedding, and the Malfoys are there," mum says, agitation apparent in her voice. "There's so much to do, and Lily wants everything to be _perfect_."

Repressing a smirk, I lightly say "Weddings!" like it's no big deal.

"Indeed," she agrees. "Well anyway, I came to summon your help."

"_What_?" Louis and I say simultaneously, the look on his face undoubtedly mirroring mine.

"You weren't doing anything, were you?" She eyes us in that typical judgmental manner of hers, clearly indicating that we're lazy and should be ashamed of ourselves for not even proposing to help. "Lily is your cousin and Scorpius your friend. Don't you want them to have a great day?"

Louis coughs. "Of course."

I give her the brightest, fakest smile I can manage, "The answer to that sounds self-evident to me."

Louis coughs again, this time to hide his laughter. Mum, not immediately the un-sharpest tool in the box, is obviously on to us, because she squints eyes in suspicion. She decides not to say anything though (because she probably refuses to believe we could be that cruel) and merely points her thumb at the door, gesturing for us to come with. With great disinclination, I push myself out of my chair and link arms with Louis.

"I hate her," I petulantly whisper to him when my mum's out of hearing range.

"God no," Louis mutters back, "I, for one, _love_ picking out the perfect china."

I shoot him a sideways glance and innocently suggest, "Well, I hear it's very breakable."

Louis's laughter rings through the hall.

"You really will _never_ change."

* * *

The wedding location is so beautiful it nearly makes my breakfast come up again.

They chose a park not too far from the Malfoy Manor, with an old, classic white building next to a pond. In all those years I've known Scorpius, I have never seen this place before. Which is highly strange – we spent endless hours wandering around in his neighbourhood at night, even after we were allowed to Apparate. Wiltshire is a marvellous place, a country of great diversity. My guess is it couldn't have been difficult to find a perfect location to tie the knot.

"_Why_ are we here?" Louis breaks into my train of thought, whining. "I mean, Harry and Ginny are rich, the Malfoys are rich... I don't see the problem in hiring House-elves!"

"Seriously," I agree whole-heartedly, glaring at all the people rushing from left to right in front of us. We have manoeuvred ourselves behind a tree, trying to make ourselves look as inconspicuous as possible. Mum ran off as soon as we arrived, since she is a perfectionist and also mentally unable to let other people do the work – she, after all, does everything best. Or so she thinks.

Unfortunately, our futile ambition to become a chameleon quickly goes up in flames, as we hear Louis's name being called by his terror of a little sister. We exchange meaningful looks as the blonde bombshell heads towards us, her shrill voice disturbingly overwhelming and bossy as always.

Now, if there's one person I haven't missed...

"Good afternoon, Dominique," I beam, insincerely. "What a lovely surprise to stumble upon our most elegant Highness!"

"Go the fuck away, Dom," says Louis, not interested in sharing my sarcasm but going straight for the kill. "I don't need a headache to develop."

Dominique smacks his shoulder in return and then turns to me. "Hi Rose... Did you do something with your hair? I mean, it looks kind of weird. Like, is it shorter than last time? Yes! Definitely! That's it – you cut it short. God... I always wonder why girls cut their hair short. I mean, like, it's not really ugly with you or anything, but I personally think – "

"Oh! Look!" I interrupt rashly. "There's someone waving at me over there. Sorry, have to go! Bye, Dom." I give Louis a quick kiss on the cheek, dismissing his murderous Leave-Me-Now-And-You'll-Regret-It-Later glare. "See you later, Louis!"

I rush off to the imaginary friend or family member that supposedly waved at me. I keep my gaze downcast, fixed on the ground, hoping for everyone to leave me alone. I subtly slip by the group of people discussing something at the table, and walk to the other side of the house, where the pond is. There, sitting on a wooden bench, I find Astoria Malfoy, her dark hair collected in a loose knot and her pale fingers wrapped around a glass of champagne. I hesitate momentarily, but then decide that out of everyone here, Astoria will aggravate me the least.

"Mrs Malfoy," I clear my throat, touching her upper arm to let her know I'm standing behind her.

Visibly startled, she turns around, and exclaims, "Rose, dear! How long it has been!"

Scorpius's mother has always had a soft spot for me, in spite of my heritage and who she's married to. She has always been nothing but kind to me, treating me as an adult, as opposed to my own parents. Her grace balances out her husband's emotional detachment, and it's because of her genes Scorpius actually has some human feelings. Not that I have that much of a problem with Draco Malfoy – not really. I know I'm supposed to, considering his history with my parents and all, but we get on fairly well. Not that he's _nice_ or anything – I mean, the man probably has a metal device for a heart. But he reminds me of Scorpius, and he's quite clever, and not afraid to rub that cleverness in my face. Truth is, he's hardly ever not sarcastic, and sarcastic parents have always been my cup of tea. _Sarcasm_ has always been my cup of tea, period.

"It has been a while, yes," I smile warmly. "How's the wedding treating you?"

"Fine," she answers, taking a sip from her glass. "How is it treating _you_?"

"Fine," I echo automatically.

She puts her hand on my knee, and softly asks, "Truthfully?"

It's suicide to admit my feelings about the wedding to the mother of the groom. It's stupid and irrational and clashes with my principles. It's nothing for me, sensible Ravenclaw Rose Weasley. But nonetheless, I find myself shaking my head , silently staring at the water.

"How do you feel?"

I want to say "like _shit_", but I can't use that kind of language in presence of the most sophisticated woman alive. Instead I pick up a pebble from underneath the bench and throw it into the pond. It dives in, forming a perfect curve in the process. The peaceful water ripples as it sinks to the bottom, circles flooding out of circles.

"Like this."

Mrs Malfoy nods in understanding. "I'm sorry, my dear. I guess we all thought things would go differently."

"Did you believe he would marry me in the end?" I ask, wondering if it's rude to ask such an open question.

"Yes," she says, without any reluctance. "But Draco couldn't find the patience, and thus, neither could he."

"Sorry?"

"Well, Draco has always pressured him, you know that," she explains, "and marriage was no exception. Traditions... they've always been high on his priority list. I married Draco when I was twenty-one."

Comprehension dawns on me. "Oh."

An elation travels through me, almost causing me to jump up and start dancing.

"Rose, dear," Astoria says quickly, after seeing my face. "I never said he doesn't love Lily."

"I know," I say just as quickly.

It doesn't mean that he doesn't love Lily indeed.

But you know what it does mean though?

It means that he wasn't _bursting_ with love. It means that he didn't wake up one day, desperate for Lily Potter to be by his side _forever_. It means that it was an external factor wanting them to exchange their vows and _not him_.

It's not huge, but it's a compromise.

And right now, I'm not exactly in the position to be of the demanding kind.

"Speaking of which," Astoria looks behind her, "there he is."

I follow her lead and find Scorpius coming towards us. Not having expected him, my heart stops for a split second and then resumes its pace twice as fast. I pinch myself to snap out of it and school my features in a casual expression, not willing to betray my inner turmoil.

"Mother," he nods, and then bows down to kiss me. His lips touch the corner of my mouth, and I have to pinch myself again for noticing. "Rose, finally. Your mum told me you were here but I couldn't find you anywhere."

"Just catching up with your mother," I say.

He turns to said mother and drawls, "Mum, I'm out of here. I'm not feeling well."

She places her hand against his forehead and observes, "You're not feverish."

"I'm merely tired," he says shortly, shooting me a significant Cry-For-Help look.

"I'll go with you," I offer.

"Great," Scorpius says. "Let's go."

I get up and smile once again at Astoria. "Bye, Mrs Malfoy. I hope to see you on Sunday."

"Certainly," she says agreeably.

"Come on." Scorpius puts his arm over me, just like yesterday, and steers me into the direction I came from. "Before I feel the urge to jump into the pond and drown."

I arch an eyebrow. "Don't sound too buoyant."

Walking hastily, almost to get away from his mother and this place as quickly as possible, he sneers, "If I have to listen to ten women bitching about the right tableware _any_ longer, I will never, _ever_ be buoyant again. My happiness presents itself only in limited packages. After today, none will be left."

"Drama queen."

"Fuck this," he scowls. "Let's get Louis."

"What for?"

"Beer pong. I need to restore my will to live."

"You've come to the right woman."

And that I mean with every fibre or my being.

* * *

"Oooh, shit! That's not fair!"

Louis looks at us with narrowed eyes and picks up his twelfth cup after I aced the game once again. He downs the liquor _ad fundum_ and Scorpius and I clap our hands enthusiastically in response. When Louis lets out a disgusting burp, we continue cheering and high-five each other.

"God, I am pissed," Louis comments in a thick voice, taking the racket from me. "I'm supposed to be the good one, remember?"

"We're pissed as well, who cares?" I say. "This is tradition! Beer pong got us wasted for the first time!"

The first time we played beer pong, was in our fourth year as well.

Again, on courtesy of James.

"Yeah, you snogged Penelope, remember?" The corners of Scorpius's mouth quirk upwards.

I laugh loudly at the memory. "She looked like a _horse_."

"She was a good kisser, okay?" Louis holds up his hands in defence, his face growing red.

"And you clearly were in the right state to judge objectively," Scorpius snorts.

Joining in the fun, I pinch Louis's cheeks. "Oh, is that a _blush_?"

"How cute," Scorpius drawls annoyingly. "Doesn't your heart just _melt_ at the sight of him, Rose?"

I see Louis licking his lips in opportunity, looking like a cat that has swallowed a canary. I hastily put my hand against his mouth to refrain dramas from happening and subtly kick him in the shin to make the message clear. He awards me with a death glare and mouths "Bitch" while I keep Scorpius's gaze and smile apologetically.

"I need to keep him from spreading lies," I explain, ignoring Louis's vicious teeth in my hand palm.

"What lies?"

Louis manages to get away from my iron grip and says blatantly, "They're not _lies_."

"Don't keep me in suspense," Scorpius demands. He's obviously not interested in the game anymore, seeing as he takes an empty glass and fills it with Firewhiskey.

"Yes, Rose," Louis actually dares to steal our trademark – he _smirks_, "Don't keep the poor bloke in suspense."

"You're drunk," I say in a nagging tone.

"So are you," he points out. "So is Scorpius."

"Okay, what the fuck are you on about?" Scorpius interrupts, never one for patience.

"Nothing," I mumble, fantasising about all possible ways to murder my cousin tomorrow. "Louis being a dork, as usual."

"You know you can't trust Rose, don't you?" Louis says innocently.

The boy is playing it tough, I've got to hand it to him. Scorpius and I are of the same kind – we always need to be first to know everything. Every time someone else seems to know something we don't, we feel uneasy, because it implies someone else is somehow one step ahead of us. Louis is very well aware of this fact, and he is now using it against us both. I hate it when he gets manipulative – that's _our_ job.

"Fair point," Scorpius agrees and turns to me. "Rose?"

"Rose _what_?"

Louis sing-songs, "Out with it."

"Out with _what_?"

"With whatever this is about."

They both stare at me in a way they probably believe to be intimidating.

"Cut the crap, guys," I sigh. "Or do I have to distract you?"

"I don't think there are adequate ways to do that," Scorpius comments.

Louis grins, "I'm with Scorpius."

I'm growing more and more annoyed. I hate that Louis got me into this position and I can't seem to find a way out of it. I snatch Scorpius's glass of Firewhiskey and drink it in one go – to, I don't know, collect extra courage or something. Then a devilish plan begins to brew in my intoxicated mind, leading to a full-blown smirk. The sheer brilliance of my own brain, I will never learn to comprehend.

"Want a bet?" I suggest. "Ten galleons for me if I manage to distract you, Scorpius, and ten galleons for you I don't."

It's not about the money – it never has been. We're filthy rich, both of us. It's about pride, and when our pride's on the line, things are about to get serious.

Only not really.

"This is interesting," Louis quips up.

Scorpius nods, chuckling, "Bring it, love."

And then my temporary insanity rears its ugly head.

Because, in a fit of complete and utter idiocy, and I step forward and give Scorpius a peck on the lips.

A-ha.

I immediately step backwards after I've pulled this stunt, and find Scorpius and Louis both staring at me speechless. I feel my cheeks heating up and suddenly wonder if this was a good idea to begin with. The irony is that _was_ meant as a friendly joke, damn it. Even if I wouldn't be in love with Scorpius... I still would've done this.

"Good try," Scorpius suddenly says drily, crossing his arms. "But I still want to know what it's about."

Relief is visibly painted on Louis's face, and this time, he decides to actually _help_ me. "It was nothing, Scorpius. I was just teasing you for the sake of it."

"_Thank_ you," I bring out, sharing said relief.

"Shit," Scorpius frowns, "well-played, Louis."

"Yeah," he says. "But I think I'm going to call it a day. I drank too much already."

Normally we both would protest, but neither Scorpius nor me comes up with a valid argument and we merely nod in response. Louis shakes Scorpius's hand and gives him a pat on the shoulder, and then whispers "I'll see you soon, okay?" in my ear. The goodbyes are exchanged rather quickly, and this makes me wonder if maybe Scorpius isn't as calm as he appears to be. An unwelcome tension pollutes the air, causing my throat to thicken. I should've known things would be different – I should've known I wasn't allowed to kiss him anymore.

The I'm-Such-A-Twat button flashes red.

"So," Scorpius says simply, after the door has closed and Louis is gone.

"So," I repeat, at loss for what to say.

"I'm drunk."

I look at him from the corner of my eye. "So am I."

When I feel his fingers creeping on mine, I freeze.

I suddenly become hyper-aware of all of my surroundings, and extremely self-conscious to the boot. My head should feel hazy, but it doesn't – it's clearer than it's ever been. _Scorpius_ is clearer than he's ever been. In fact, I start to realise that this week, I've seen him clear for the first time.

"What are you – ?"

That's the last thing I get to ask.

Because then Scorpius kisses me.

I'm so bewildered I don't know what to think, what to feel, what to do. I'm paralysed for a split second, but then my instincts take over, and my hands automatically clasp behind his neck. He takes this as an invitation and his kiss grows hungrier, more intense. I barely react at first, but his lips are soft, and he tastes like mint and Firewhiskey and oh God oh God oh God – how has this been so long? A jolt of electricity runs through me when his tongue touches mine.

I thought I'd gotten used to this, but nothing is further from the truth.

Scorpius has kissed me a million times, and it always felt familiar. But it's completely different now. Yes, my body temperature rises. Yes, I physically want him. That's the same. But the difference is that this time, my heart is nearly beating out of my chest, and when his lips leave mine for one second, I want to scream that I love him, and that I was completely stupid to not having done so in Hogwarts.

Because Louis was wrong.

I wasn't always in love with Scorpius. I might have fancied myself to be, sometimes, but compared to this?

I didn't know what love was.

I do now.

He shoves me against the wall, hard but without hurting me. I don't register anything but the trailing kisses in my neck and the hands crawling underneath my shirt. I don't register anything but the pool of warmth this produces in my stomach. Thank God he is holding me up, because my knees would buckle otherwise. All the frustration, anger, sadness and unwanted desires are pressure packed in this very minute, causing me to gasp.

"This," I say breathlessly, "has been way too long."

Scorpius stops abruptly. "What?"

I frown at the sudden lack of contact, but keep my mouth shut. His eyes widen in realisation and he takes a step backwards, leaving me cold and uncomfortable, drunk – not only from the liquor – and painfully sober at the same time.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, reality hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"Shit," he looks at me with a face that screams regret. "I'm getting fucking married."

"You – you are," is all I can stutter.

Scorpius is completely out of his element. His usually cool, calm and collected exterior is in ruins, with his hair tousled and his lips swollen. For a moment he looks so lost I want to hug him, but on second thought that's probably not the best idea right now.

"Rose," he says hesitatingly, "I need to go. I'm sorry."

The following is what I should do:

Tell him not to. Tell him this wasn't a mistake and it never has been. Tell him Lily's not the right girl for him now and never will be. Tell him _I_ love him. Tell him that's all that matters.

But, of course, I don't.

I stand there, shaking, too scared to do anything at all really, and watch him go back to his fiancé.

Two words:

This.

Hurts.

* * *

The plot thickens!  
Please review, it makes my day

-Josephine


	6. Friday

Hello all. This chapter is hardly my best writing but it's here nonetheless.

If you're looking for a worthy R/S fic, check FreakwriterCHM's 'Feud' out. It looks awesome already.

Disclaimer: no copyright infringement intended. All things recognisable belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

_I won't let you bury it_  
_I won't let you smother it_  
_I won't let you murder it_

_our time is running out_

Muse – time is running out

* * *

**FRIDAY**

The first time Scorpius told me he loved me was on a Friday, right before the Christmas holidays, in our fifth year.

Louis was coming down with a fever and was supposed to lie in bed all day. Luckily he'd managed to escape the claws of Madam Pomfrey Jr. by claiming the smell of the Hospital wing made him sicker than he already was. Seeing as Louis has the possibility to be very convincing when he wants to be, the woman bought it and allowed the boy to sleep in the Ravenclaw dormitories. He also couldn't attend classes, causing Scorpius and I to barely see our friend. Since neither of us was permitted to enter those dormitories – him being a Slytherin, me being a girl – we devised a plan to skip classes and keep Louis some company during the day. We even brought a box of ice cream we'd stolen in the Hogwarts kitchen. Unfortunately, he turned out to be too sick to eat any of it, and even though he was glad we'd made an effort to come and see him, he fell asleep almost immediately after we'd arrived.

We, of course, proceeded to eat the ice cream ourselves.

We sat down on the bed of another friend of mine, pulling the covers over us because we were cold. We were cosy and comfortable, our legs crossed Indian-style.

"This is us..." Scorpius said, stuffing a spoon in his mouth in the process, "against the world."

"No," I objected. "Not yet."

I then pulled the covers over our heads, like a tent. I sat on his opposite, our knees touching, and couldn't see a thing.

"Now it's like in the summers," I said, because we always slept in a tent then.

He didn't reply for a rather long time. Not being used to him being silent around me, I pinched his upper leg and urged him to speak. He mumbled something unintelligible in response, and when my eyes got used to the dark, I caught him staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Don't run away," he finally replied in a weird tone, "but I love you."

It was such an absurd thing for him to say, I couldn't do anything but snicker. It was completely unlike him to declare his love for me – for anyone, really – and it honest to God freaked me out, shocked me to the bone. I didn't know what to do, and reacted by laughing his comment away. He went with it, because, you know, what else could he do? But it must've been harsh, and I never fully grasped the possible impact it might have had on him until now.

_You hurt him all the time, Rose._

That's what Louis said.

And maybe, maybe he was right.

* * *

Anger.

Self-reproach.

Disappointment.

Sadness.

Hope?

I wake up with an inability to decide what it is exactly what I'm feeling. The rush of confusion combined with a hangover hits me as soon as I open my eyes, making me groan in my pillow. I don't want to get up – I mean, when getting vertical equals getting horizontal, you know you're not facing a wonderful prospect – but the voices downstairs are too loud to drown out by my sheets and in spite of my headache, my mind all but shuts up. In fact, the misery overwhelms me faster than I can form the word 'fuck' to describe the utter stupidity of what I have bestowed upon myself and others.

Great going, Rose Weasley.

You're an upstanding family member. Grade A. Pro material.

Bloody hell.

A knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts. Not too eager to see, well, anyone really, I don't exactly dignify the person with a proper answer and don't bother to raise my head when footsteps enter my room.

"Go away," I whine.

"Do you really want me to go?"

Peeping from under my arm, I look at the innocence that is my little brother. Hugo, with ruffled red hair and freckles and sagging shoulders and long nose, cocks his head. I surrender at the sight of him.

"If you bring me a hangover potion I might let you stay and even speak more than three words to you."

"Yeah," he nods. "Okay."

Hugo has always been somewhat of a doormat.

I, of course, love doormats.

He leaves and comes back within three minutes. Handing me the potion, he dares to grant me a judgemental look that clearly screams 'Why Is This Scene So Terribly Familiar?!'. I professionally ignore this and down the repugnant substance in one go.

"So," I start, the medicine instantly kicking in, "what brings you here?"

"Wanted to see how you're holding up."

If Scorpius or Louis were to say this, or anyone in my family really, I'd be suspicious. But this is Hugo and he's passive as fuck – he doesn't plan things, let alone conversations to drag information out of me. I lazily lift up my thumb and blatantly lie, "Fine."

"Of course," he says, without a shred of sarcasm.

Truth is, I'm always fine. I mean, I always seem to be fine. I'm kind of like a rock, just not really reliable.

"Tell me something," I try, very willing to get my mind off things.

He thinks for a moment. "I failed Charms?"

I chuckle, "Mum told me in a letter."

"Figures," he mutters. "Jordan failed it as well though."

"I don't care about Jordan. Tell me something _interesting_."

"I have a girlfriend?"

Quickly sitting up, I gasp, "What? _Who_?"

"Amy Delacroix," he says proudly.

"Like the painter."

"Like who?"

I roll my eyes. "Never mind. Since when are you two dating?"

"Last week."

"How did you get together?"

"Well, how do you think?" He shrugs. "I just told her I liked her. What else can you do?"

Feeling quite strange all of a sudden, I ask, "Are you going to take her to the wedding?"

"Yeah," he smiles, and he looks happy at the thought. "Mum and Dad don't know yet though."

"I'll tell them," I offer, knowing very well how Hugo isn't verbally strong.

"Cheers," he says, smile expanding. "So what are you going to do today?"

"I don't – " I stop midway, hit by the glowing mirth surrounding my brother, "I'm going to pay a visit."

Fuck.

This is it.

"To who?"

Climbing out of my bed and taking the comb from my nightstand, I mumble, "A friend."

"Well, okay," he says. "Have fun."

"Yeah," I say distractedly, the uneasy feeling in my gut growing. "...Maybe."

* * *

When Scorpius opens the door, the first thing he does is cocking a perfectly formed eyebrow at the sight of his not-too-kept-together best friend. He's clad in a gray hoodie and black track-suit bottoms – which he never wears outside of his house and are the only casual pieces of clothing he owns – and looks like he hasn't slept a wink. Alas, this doesn't retract from his charm, and a flashback to the time when the boy still woke up next to me enters my mind swiftly. As if I needed another reminder of that.

"Rose," he says hoarsely. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He doesn't even try and make it sound like a question. It comes out unwilling, like he didn't want to greet me in the first place. I'm not sure whether to be sad or relieved that he seems miserable as well, but refuse to dwell on it. Instead I take a deep breath and lock eyes.

This is fucking nerve-wracking.

What if he'll hate me? What if he'll never forgive me? What if I'm indeed forced to get over it? What if I lay my heart open on the line, ready to be dissected and crushed? What if it screws me up so bad I'll never remember who I was before love?

But then again, I don't have a choice. The only thing coming to me is a risk, and I have to take it.

"Don't marry her."

He blinks. "Pardon me?"

Gaze fixed on his face, I repeat, almost pleadingly, "Don't marry her."

"_What_?"

He sounds impatient, genuinely vexed. There's a spark of curiosity too, but maybe that's just a part of my overactive imagination. The last time I felt this anxious I – well, I think it's safe to claim I've never been this nervous, ever. My heart smashes against my ribcage at two hundred kilometres an hour. My stomach aches for reasons that have nothing at all to do with the liquor we mastered yesterday. I have to force bile to remain where it belongs, instead of ending up on his bare feet.

Clearly, I am not made for love.

"You're not..." I find myself stuttering, "you're not supposed to be with her."

"Rose, what the fuck are you on about?" He asks, frowning.

"She doesn't even _read_, Scorpius!" I spit out. "She – she's never read George Orwell. She never _tried_." Fuelled by him looking completely perplexed, I go on, "She likes fashion magazines and gossip and she doesn't give a shit about the newest developments in the potions department!"

"She's nice," he counters, "and funny."

"Is that _enough_?"

With a scrutinising look, he sighs, "What's it to you?" then, as an afterthought, "Why are you really here?"

"Because I want to refrain you from making a huge mistake!"

"And who are you to judge?"

"I'm your _best_ friend," I state. "I know you better than I know myself!"

Not having it, Scorpius crosses his arms, "Well, apparently not, seeing as you fail completely at convincing me here."

"Scorpius," I say, exasperated. "You _kissed_ _me_ last night. Stop pretending nothing _happened_!"

"Shut _up_," he says quickly, looking behind him to check if anyone's there – like he doesn't know already. "I was drunk. Let's keep this between us, okay? It's not fair to Lily, I know that."

Utterly repulsed, I exclaim, "As opposed to _me_ then?"

"What are you – "

"It's not fair to _me_ either, Scorpius!"

Disbelievingly, he says, "I didn't think _you_ would care."

"So you thought you could just _use_ me?"

"No, of course not!" He objects quickly. "I just figured you wouldn't care. Rose, you _never_ cared."

"Sure I did!"

"Oh yeah," he says mockingly. "Rose Weasley, our very own morality centre. Give the girl a standing ovation."

"You _really_ aren't being fair, Scorpius," I squint my eyes.

"And _you're_ acting entirely unlike yourself."

"Why? Because it's totally implausible for me to care?"

"You sound like a jealous ex-girlfriend," he comments drily. "Not like Rose Weasley, toughest girl I've ever met."

I cast my eyes downwards and bite my lip. I don't know what to say to that, because the core of truth is fixed right in it.

"I know - " I all but whisper, "I know I'm not who you want me to be anymore."

Something subtle alters in Scorpius's face – his grey gaze less harsh, the lines around his mouth less set.. He takes a step forward and lifts his hands to rub my upper arms. I can barely look at him, afraid to mess everything up.

"Rose," he says softly, "what's really bothering you?"

"I can't be there when you marry her, Scorpius," I bring out, exasperated.

"But why _not_?"

I take a deep breath.

Then count to ten.

I savour the feeling of his hands on me, because I know it might be the last time this ever happens. Scenarios brew in my mind, playing out all possible endings, and come to the conclusion that there are only two: bad and worse.

I opt for bad.

"Because – " I say firmly, "because _I love you_!"

And then, the world seems to stop.

We both freeze, like statues fixed in a specific, significant moment of time. I expect audience to applaud, fireworks to appear, volcanoes to erupt, seas to run dry, the sun to extinguish, the earth to flatten – I expect something monumental to shift, because the shift in _me_ in monumental. But instead time stands still, and nothing at all happens. We just stare, and then he clears his throat.

"No fucking way."

Well.

Of all responses.

You were supposed to embrace me, Scorpius. You were supposed to take me into your arms and kiss me passionately and call your wedding off this very instant. Sunlight was supposed to fall down upon us, enlightening the scene and producing smiles upon our pretty faces. We were supposed to remember this moment as magical and tell our children and grandchildren about it, laughing and toasting. How - for God's sake - can you _not _see that?

"No fucking way," he repeats. "You _cannot_ do that."

"Why are you – "

"_Screw you_!"

I take a step backwards in utter surprise. The volume of his voice ripples through the air as he looks at me with fury written all over his features.

"You don't get to do that, Rose!" he suddenly shouts, his nostrils flaring. "Don't tell me you love me!"

Fear grips me.

I have never seen Scorpius truly angry at me.

Not once.

Scorpius Malfoy is cool, calm and collected. He is the stable centre of a place about to fall apart. If there'd be this gigantic outbreak of, say, poison gas, and the whole world would be in hysterics, yelling housemothers and panicking fathers and screeching children and all that jazz – well, there Scorpius would be. Tall and unmoving, rationally attempting to cast a spell that might save his own skin. Him falling apart is breaking a law of the universe. I've never really encountered it, and if Louis hadn't told me about the day I left to America, I wouldn't even believe it.

I suppose I get front seat tickets now.

"Why _not_?"

He shakes his head furiously. "Because _you broke my heart_. Every fucking day. A _zillion_ times."

"I know, I'm sor – "

"Remember when we first slept together and then you went out on a date with Sebastian Nott a week later?" He laughs derisively. "Remember all those times I attempted to talk our _'special bond'_ through, and you simply laughed it off? Remember when you forced me to go on a double-date and I had to watch you making out with someone else? Remember – " he stops for a second, swallows deeply, and continues in tone bitter as gall, "remember when you just _left_? You went to America, leaving me here, and you wrote about all these magnificent things you saw, and all _I_ did was being _miserable_ without you!"

"Scorpius – "

He cuts me off again. "You left me, and I let you. Like always, I let you, and I forgave you for everything, because I kept hoping that one day you would wake up and realise it was your own cowardice keeping us from being together. I kept waiting for you, because _no one else compared_. But then, one day, I gave up."

When I fail to reply, his voice finally lowers. "I gave up on you, Rose."

"Don't say that," I choke out.

"And you know what?" He says. "I know Lily's not half as clever as you. I know she hasn't got your talent, and your curiosity, and your independence. But at least she's not going to bail on me, and maybe that's worth ten times more than all of your qualities combined."

Wanting to throw up, I close my eyes. "So you're just going to settle?"

"I couldn't keep living a dream, Rose," he says, evading my question. "I'm too clever for that, and you know I don't think with my heart."

"But what about intensity?" I try, wanting to shake him. "We said we lived our lives harder than everybody else, because we wanted to feel it. We wanted to feel that we were _alive_. What happened to _that_?"

"We only did that because we're two _emotionally blocked_ people, Rose! We needed thrills, especially you, because we fancied ourselves unable to love."

He's right, and he's always been right. I get the urge to press my hand against his mouth to refrain him from delving deeper into things I want to elbow out, but I don't, and I watch, uncharacteristically out of ideas, how he continues to kill all hope.

"Well, _I_ loved you. Because you gave me what no one else could - adventure and excitement. But..."

I brace myself.

"But, I need to grow up now. Accept life for what it is. It's not..." He sighs tiredly. "We can't fool around forever, you know? You've got to move onwards at some point."

Comprehension dawns upon me, and my heart sinks not to the bottom of my shoes, but below them. "So Lily's the future to you."

"...Yeah."

And there I am – wondering how such a simple four-letter word can possibly carry so much meaning.

"So this is it," I conclude, paralysed in one way and yet so eager to undo this in another. "Okay, your call."

"You understand me though, yeah?"

"I do," I say, and I'm not lying. "But you know what else I understand?"

He tilts his head, and like before, reaches out.

"You waited for me," I go on, trying not to be fixed on the way his fingers trail down my arm, "And I will wait for you this time. You might not want me to, but I will nevertheless."

"Rose...."

He makes a move to pull me closer, but I interrupt him immediately, my voice nearly breaking, "Don't."

"I really wish," he hesitates, pauses for a moment, "we'll be just friends one day."

Suffocated by the thickness of this goodbye, I manage to bring out a frail, "Yeah." And then stiffly half-turn to the left. "I'll see you at the wedding, okay?"

He nods soundlessly.

I wait another twenty seconds because he looks like he's about to say something else. But I just keep on staring and I realise I must be imagining things and look like a lunatic to the boot. The impression of his inner debate fades as he starts eyeing me questioningly, and I end up muttering another lame "See you later" while I walk away.

If this were a movie, he would call out my name and stop me. He'd claim this was all a misunderstanding and marry me instead.

But this isn't a movie, and this is how it usually goes.

I walk alone.

Rejected and in silence.

* * *

Please leave a review :)

-Josephinee


	7. Saturday

I wrote this very quickly. It might show.  
I have examens coming up so I won't be able to update in a month or so. More or less.

ALSO: new poll on my profile!

**Disclaimer:** no copyright infringement intended. All recognisable characters and settings belong to J.K. rowling.

* * *

_Don't mean to close the door_  
_But for the record, my heart is sore_  
_You blew through me like bullet holes_  
_Left stains on my sheets and stains_  
_On my soul_

'Werewolf' - Cocorosie

* * *

**SATURDAY**

Heartache is the biggest bitch I've ever met.

We used to be strangers, you know. Heartache and me. I didn't know heartache. In fact, I didn't have the slightest idea what heartache consisted of, what it meant, how it could possibly ruin someone. Because, truth is, you kind of need a heart for it to ache. And we all know everyone thinks an evil nurse ripped out mine to swap it with a metal device when I was born.

But boy, does the metal device ache now.

It's two in the morning, I can't sleep for the life of me. I have seen every corner of my bed – I have crawled from left to right from up to down from stomach to back. I have opened my window, closed it, opened it. Put on my night robes, took them off, ransacked my closet for something lighter, then put on my night robes again. Changed my sheets twice. Shook my pillow. Tried reading a book, but quit after realising I read the same page five times. Switched on the light, switched it off. Walked down the stairs but woke up my Mum in process, so simply went back to bed.

I am completely restless.

I don't know what to do with myself.

It's this feeling – this inexplicably black feeling – that creeps onto me slowly, like a hand reaching from behind, its fingers tickling along my neck, quietly driving me up the wall, and then –

Bingo.

Iron grip around my throat.

Choking on being alone.

Scorpius Malfoy does _not want me._

He has given up. He wants to go forward and the only way to do this, in his eyes, is marrying my cousin, Lily fucking Potter. They're going to tie the knot at a beautiful place, and they're going to have a beautiful ceremony, and then they'll make beautiful babies, and they'll buy a beautiful house, and they'll live beautifully ever after – and do you see my name in there somewhere, like a hidden message somehow, perhaps a code?

No.

I think not.

The worst thing about a heartache, is that you're unable to touch it. Take Lily for example. Number one on my bitch ranking right now. I can touch her. I can shove her against the wall, plant my fist in her pretty little face and call her every name under the sun – but, yeah, of course, I wouldn't do that. I don't resort to caveman manners to resolve a problem, ever. My genes are blessed with verbal intelligence, cheers. But still. Her I could touch a lesson, you know? One way or another. I could yell at her, and there'd be a receiving end.

Heartache doesn't grant me any of that.

Heartache is the dead end of a phone.

I can yell all I want. I can throw punches and insults. I can smash things and use Dark Magic and wish death upon whatever.

It won't change a fucking thing.

Heartache is the emptiness that lies ahead of you, and there's nothing you can do but endure it.

And that's why Lily can't even begin to compare with the horror that is heartbreak.

You can't block it out either. Every time I attempt to bring up a happy memory, Scorpius is always involved. Everything leads back to him – Hogwarts, summer, even America. In some strange way, Scorpius is the middle of my universe, and this makes me feel so pathetic, so insignificant, so _banal_, the loneliness hits me even harder than before.

I have now been degraded to a place I have always considered myself too good for.

Desperation.

Lily and Scorpius. Scorpius and Lily. Malfoy and Potter. Potter and Malfoy. Lily Malfoy. Scorpius Potter.

It doesn't have the right ring to it at all. And how can Scorpius just deny the relevance of words? To me, literally everything ends in the following statement: Lily and Scorpius do not belong together. Not that I'm one of those girls who believe in destiny, or faith, or you-are-born-to-make-me-happy-crap, or whatever, but every logical argument points into that direction, and how can Scorpius, who doesn't think with his heart, not understand that?

Not being able to push any of these thoughts away, I briefly consider taking a Sleeping Draught. Then I remember I took my last stock with me to America, and that Mum refuses to buy it.

Fucking hell.

The irony, of course, is that in every other situation, I'd run to Scorpius, and he would make it his mission in life to make me feel better. But the odds have turned. I have to do without.

It takes me another hour of watching the clock tick before I realise where to go.

It makes an almost painful amount of sense.

_The Shell Cottage._

I can't stay in this room of misery any second longer.

I change into something nonchalant – not bothering to look whether my trousers match with my sweater. I throw my hair in a ponytail, put on an old pair of red ballet flats – the first pair I find. I don't need a mirror to tell me how horrible I look, but in spite of my wishes, my mirror does so anyway. I immediately silence it with one flick of my wand, resisting the urge to demolish it altogether.

I Apparate so hastily, I almost throw up when I arrive at Tinworth.

With sand crackling under my feet and the smell of sea surrounding me, I walk towards the funny-looking house of aunt Fleur and uncle Bill. Louis doesn't live here anymore – he has his own apartment in London – but he often stays here for a week or so, whenever a situation calls for it. He, as many others, loves it here, and regards it as an escape from the rush of city life, anticipating its cold wind and its everlasting tranquillity. Out of us three, Louis's family is the poorest (although you can hardly call them poor at all), but when it comes down to it, we all, even Scorpius the Ultimate Snob who sleeps in Egyptian cotton sheets, prefer this house.

Yet tonight, none of its endearing qualities makes me feel any better.

I knock on Louis's window. I attempt to Alohomora his lock, but of course the Weasleys know better than that. Fortunately I hear sounds coming from the room, and in no time a sleepy-looking Louis appears at the other side. When he sees me, he immediately opens up, allowing me to clamber inside.

"What are you – "

But then he stops.

Because, the moment we lock eyes, I start crying.

For what seems to be the first time in my life.

I used to think my lachrymal duct was obstructed. I didn't cry when Crookshanks died (age eleven, Mum was depressed for a month). I didn't cry when I once failed a test (Transfiguration, due to absence. I was stuck in bed because of a hangover, one which they were very aware of), nor when Scorpius got more O.W.L.'s than me (I made up for lost ground with our N.E.W.T.'s), nor when we lost the Housecup every year. I didn't cry when I broke my arm in our first year, when I fell off my broom (not from pain, nor from embarrassment – and yes, my pride was wounded). I had apparently lost the ability to cry altogether. Of course I must've cried at some point, when I was a kid probably. But I literally cannot remember it. Cannot remember how it feels, how it works. Even in America, when I missed Scorpius so bad I wanted to claw my eyes out, I couldn't.

Karma, together with heartache, is a bitch.

"He – he _gave up on me_, Louis," I bring out, my vision distorted.

Comprehension dawns upon Louis's face. He doesn't waste time, merely puts his arms around me, understanding the sober earnest of the situation in the weird telepathic way friends are supposed to.

And, of course. I'm crying. Kind of a give-away.

"Shit," he mutters simply, conveying the entire mess in one not so pretty word.

"Louis," I sob, syllables interrupted by silly hiccups, "I am – I am so _unhappy_."

"I know, Rosie," he says softly, pressing me closer against his shoulder.

"I just – I think of him, and then I remember... he's going to marry – _marry_ her, you know? Someone else..." I sniffle, "and every time her face pops up in my head, I want to vomit. Like, genuinely – I feel _sick_, you know?"

He remains silent, simply strokes my hair and lets me continue.

"I was... I was too _late_."

Louis counters, "Maybe he was too early."

"Maybe we're incompatible, Louis," I suggest, tasting salt on my lips.

"It's not _you_ _two_ that are incompatible," he says. "It's your timelines."

I shrug helplessly and choke out, "What am I supposed to do without him?"

"Tonight, you sleep here," he states, "and tomorrow, I'll stand by you, watching him make the biggest mistake of his life. You will come to me whenever you need to, and I'll be there."

I can't do anything but nod, since the thickness of my throat seems to refrain air from passing through. Louis guides me towards his huge bed, pulling me down gently and lying down himself. I absent-mindedly take off my shoes before getting under his covers.

"Please don't ever give up on me, Louis," I whisper.

He glances at me from the corner of his eye, and says, gravely, "Never."

It's the last thing we say for a very long time. After my sobbing has slowly subdued, I hear Louis sighing.

"So what exactly did you say?"

Sometimes, you don't want to say things out loud, because they stop being a part of your imagination and start living outside of you. Sometimes, you don't want to say things out loud because you don't want them to become real.

But it is not up to me anymore.

Thus, I take a deep breath.

It takes two more hours for the two of us to drift to sleep.

* * *

Once, when we were walking to advanced Potions, Scorpius asked me if I believed in karma.

"Do you think," were his exact words, "you'll get to pay for your nonsense one day?"

"What nonsense?"

He looked at me pointedly. "You hexing Clearwater this morning, for example."

"_Rightfully_," I raised an eyebrow at him. "I can hardly consider _that_ nonsense."

"You know _I_ don't question your motives," he quickly said. "But someone else might."

"Are you afraid of _Clearwater's_ retribution? She's a complete moron."

He shook his head. "I know she hasn't got two brain cells to glue together. I meant it in a more... spiritual sense, you know?"

"Who are you and what have you done to my rational best friend?" I asked suspiciously.

"I didn't say I believed in it," he replied calmly. "I merely wondered whether you did."

"Well, I obviously don't." Then, an afterthought, "Do you think I _deserve_ it?"

He kept quiet for a while. It took him so long to answer I thought he was ignoring me, but in the end he spoke up in a drawling voice, "You know you do, Rose."

I opened my mouth to ask him whether he was being serious or sarcastic, but that moment we arrived in class, and Scorpius was ahead of me. He waited in the doorway, holding out his arm, and smirked, "After you, my lady."

The memory is the first thing that comes to me when I wake up Saturday morning, believing it to be a dream. But it isn't, and irony rears its ugly head once I realise Scorpius had been perfectly serious.

* * *

Saturday passes me by in a daze.

After I survived breakfast with Aunt Fleur, Mum summoned both me and Louis again to help with the preparations. Her casual mention of the wedding (just _one more day_) was enough to make me feel ill, but I sucked it up, and ended up in the park once more.

People are busy.

People are running around, arranging. Picking the right flowers. Picking the right forks. Picking all the right things for a wedding that is fundamentally wrong.

What a fucking joke.

Scorpius and I would've _laughed_ at this four years ago.

We would've poured ourselves some Firewhiskey and clanked our glasses and gotten drunk and made fun of everyone that followed the rules by getting married in their early twenties and all those wedding catalogues and magazines and pretty dresses and pretty tuxes and – well, basically everything he's doing right now.

I want to roll my eyes, but I'm numb with revulsion.

Fortunately, I skilfully dodge about everyone. I hear Mum shouting my name somewhere in the distance, but I ignore her and walk into the building, looking for the lavatories. The halls inside are so white and shiny it almost blinds me. I can see why this place appealed to the Malfoys; its marble floors and illustrious chandeliers scream Wealth and Sophistication. I take moment to admire the chandelier above my head, but then suddenly –

"Why can't you tell me whether you like the chairs or not?"

That's unmistakably Lily.

It comes from a room with an open door. Curious to say at least, I hurriedly cast a Concealment Charm on me, and tiptoe towards the entrance.

"I just really don't care, Lily," Scorpius replies passively.

My heart stops for a second.

"You're not committed to this wedding at all, Scorpius!" Lily screeches – to which I silently respond by pressing my hands against my ears. "You're not helping, you're not doing _anything_!"

"Can we please not do this?" Scorpius says tiredly, rubbing his temples.

Lily's desperation is so tangible I can almost touch it with my fingers. A pang of guilt shoots through me – but then I remember yesterday's fiasco, and that, even in this predicament, she's still ten times more likely to marry him than I am.

"A relationship consists of two people, okay?" Lily huffs. "It's not all up to you!"

I see Scorpius struggling to keep up the facade, but he falters slightly and snorts, "No, it's all up to _you_. I know that, Lily – everyone does."

"Are you talking about the wedding preparations?"

"For example, yeah," Scorpius mutters.

"Oh, come _on_," she yells. "You were hardly _there_! I had to do everything, or nothing would've happened!"

"Maybe," he says under his breath, "it wasn't supposed to."

Definition of bastard: an obnoxious or despicable person.

Definition of bastard: Scorpius Malfoy.

Lily, having heard him perfectly well, flinches together with me. I'm not a hypocrite – I know I have no right whatsoever to judge Scorpius for treating his fiancé like this the afternoon before their wedding, as I tried to sabotage said wedding just a day ago. But spotting the sadness on Lily's face tugs at my newly developed heart, and I find myself tremendously pissed off.

He stomped on my feelings for her.

And now he's stomping on hers for me.

The boy's always had a beautiful sense of irony.

"Did you mean that?" Lily demands, her shoulders sagging slightly.

"No," he says quickly, "I didn't."

When she doesn't reply, he puts a hand on her cheek. I can see her defences crumbling already – she lets him kiss her, she lets him patronise her, she lets him do whatever his haughty self wishes to. I want to scream at her for being so gullible, but seeing as my position doesn't exactly allow me to, I stand still, watching the spectacle in front of me in disgust.

"Come, Lily," he drawls in a deceptively sweet voice. "Let's go help, okay?"

She's melting. Like an ice berg exposed to a heat wave, her anger melts, creating disasters without her being aware of it. I want to hex her for the sake of waking her up, but then I realise I'm merely projecting – projecting my own stupidity on hers, projecting my own love for him on her infatuation.

We're both idiots. I mean – loving a guy that doesn't love you back?

Yeah.

Smart as hell.

"Okay," Idiot 1 whispers. "I'm coming with."

And Idiot 2?

She waits.

And when they're gone, they leave a mess in their wake.

* * *

"Dad?"

Dad looks behind him.

"Rosie?"

"Dad," I repeat, "I'm not feeling too well. Can I go home?"

He looks torn for a minute. "I don't think your mother's okay with that."

"_Come on,_" I plead.

"Well, you _do_ look ghastly," he concedes.

Frowning, I say, "Cheers, _Ronald_."

"I suppose you can go," he nods. "Just don't expect me to cover up for you with your Mum."

Knowing that he will anyway, I smile. "Bye, Dad."

"See you later, Rosie," he smiles back.

And then, then I get the hell out of there.

* * *

Please do review, it'd cheer me up during studying :]

Josephinee


	8. Sunday

I wrote this so quickly.

Ugh. I shall refrain from whining about my writing. It gets old.

Thanks for all your kind reviews though!

**Disclaimer: **no copyright infringement intended. All recognisable things belong to J.K. Rowling!

* * *

_you gotta believe me you gotta believe me  
you gotta believe me when I say  
the words forever  
and whatever comes your way we'll still be here together  
I know it's hard I know it's hard  
but I understand you  
just take my hand dear  
If you fall asleep down by the water baby  
I'll carry you all the way home_

The Drums – Down by the water

* * *

**SUNDAY**

It was midsummer when I finally got my acceptance letter from New York, and Scorpius was the first person I contacted, feeling particularly euphoric. He seemed well excited and told me to meet him in a place I'd strangely enough never been to before – Stonehenge. It is near his house, but since we weren't allowed to get our Apparation Licence until our seventeenth birthday, I was always too lazy to walk the entire way. I had turned seventeen two weeks before, and needless to say, obtaining that licence was the first thing I did that morning – before I started drinking and celebrating, I wanted that bloody thing which would allow me to never use my feet again if I wished to.

A sports person I am not.

But I digress.

When I arrived, I found Scorpius staring at the massive grey rocks, his hands stuck in his pockets, the wind ruffling his hair. I crept up to him from behind and placed my hand palms in front of his eyes. I felt him blinking, and then saw his lips quirking upwards.

"Professor Parkinson, you naughty minx!"

I gasped, released him and turned around. "Parkinson, _really_? You smell her perfume from a mile away!"

"Yeah, and she'd also certainly greet me the way you did," he said sarcastically, giving me a brief kiss on the cheek.

"She'd probably jump you," I drily replied, but smiled anyway.

He smiled back and then put his arm around me. "This is mental, isn't it?"

"Stonehenge?"

"No. Stonehenge is simple magic," he glanced at me. "I mean, you going to New York."

"I believe the word you're looking for is _brilliant_," I correct, my smile expanding. "Not a lowly adjective such as _mental_."

"Yeah..." he sounded distracted.

I looked up to him. I was a tad surprised, because truthfully, I'd expected him to dance right along with me.

"Eh, we're going out tonight, yeah?" I asked insecurely, put off.

"Of course," he said curtly.

Narrowing my eyes, I demanded, "Why aren't you happy for me?"

Now it was his turn to be bewildered. "Who said I wasn't happy for you?"

"Well, you're not exactly singing happy songs, are you?"

"I'm just – " he sighed, "I'm just progressing the fact that you'll be gone in less than two months, Rose."

I frowned, realising I hadn't even thought of it like that – that going to New York implied separating from Scorpius. "You look like you're attending a funeral. Our friendship isn't going to _die_, Scorpius."

"_Quote unquote_," Scorpius drawled, imitating my feminine voice. "Life ends, friendship ends, love ends – things end. Period."

"I wasn't talking about _us_," I said, indignant. "We are like... like sunset and sunrise."

He cocked an eyebrow, "Really."

"We complement each other," I elaborated. "We're always together. Distance is not going to kill us, yeah?"

"God, just how corny are you?" He said lightly.

I punched his chest – hard.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing the spot where I hit him. "Do you need to be so aggressive?"

"Do you need to be such a prick?"

He smirked. "Yes."

I punched him again in response.

This time he didn't express any pain, but pulled me closer in one swift movement, and said firmly, "But you, Rose Weasley, are right. We will never die."

Grinning, I said, "Both statements speak for themselves."

"You're such an arrogant twit," he chuckled. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"One day, I will marry you for it."

Surrounded by his cologne, I snaked my arms around his waist. "And to what do I deserve such honour?"

"Because," he started, his head resting on top of mine, "you are beautiful and so am I. Because I am the only one who would ever put up with you for so long and vice-versa."

I laughed softly. "God, just how corny are you?"

He let go of me momentarily to grant me a pseudo pissed off look, but then he started laughing along. I remember it was that specific moment, those specific minutes, ranging from that look to that laughter, in which I fully comprehended how much I would actually miss this utter snob.

If I had known how things played out in the following four years, I would've missed him a whole lot more.

* * *

Sunday morning.

Wedding day.

I stand before the mirror with a sense of doom tingling even in my toes.

I look dashing, even if I say so myself. My hair smoothed, tied in a loose bun, eyes wide open because of a whole lot of mascara and eyeliner and comprehension, cheeks blushed and pronounced. And, yeah. Of course. My ocean coloured dress, cut out perfectly, cascading down my hips.

My Maid of Honour dress.

Maid of fucking Honour.

Lily's always had a wicked personality. I mean, she told entire Hogwarts Louis had an erection deficit. So, you know. It shouldn't surprise me she appointed her fiancé's love of life Maid of Honour.

Bloody –

"Rose?"

Slightly startled for a split second, I see Mum appearing beside me. She gives me an approving look and says, "You are beautiful."

I frown.

A story Virginia Woolf once wrote crosses my mind briefly – 'The Lady in the Looking-Glass: a Reflection'. I remember its tender irony, its subtle attack of realism. The mirror was a very popular metaphor in the nineteenth century, you know, but Virginia couldn't really find herself in that. She said you couldn't capture a person's consciousness by describing his or her reflection – a mind's much deeper than that. I turn my mother, and am suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to give her a hint – to tell her the slightest version of the truth.

"Mum," I say quietly. "Did you ever read Virginia Woolf?"

She looks almost offended. "Well, that should speak for itself."

"Yeah," I force a smile, and realise she's not going to get it.

Hermione Granger-Weasley is not going to get it.

"Why?"

"Merely wondering," I mumble.

She eyes me suspiciously, but it only lasts a fleeting moment. She puts a hand on my shoulder and asks, "Ready to go?"

I'd have to be mental to, I think.

"Yes," I say.

Hugo and Dad are waiting for us outside, both clad in formal robes and neither of them looking too sharp. Hugo's hair is hopeless as usual, and Dad's oxford shirt is already tucked out of his trousers – Mum, upon seeing this, glares at the two of them. They pay her complaints no heed, and, especially in Dad's case, go on and compliment her. His attempt to soft-soap Mum is as typical as it is transparent, and it manages to make me chuckle. My laughter dies quickly though, because then Dad says it's time to Apparate – and thus reminds me of which place I'm Apparating to.

We leave, hand in hand, and I feel lonelier than I have ever felt.

When we appear at the wedding, the sun is shining brightly. Squinting my eyes (...and holding in vomit) I take off and go on my search to find my sidekick. I pass several family members I haven't seen in ages – even Charlie came to join the _party_ – and greet them half-heartedly, earning more than a few questionable glances, since I am not exactly known for my lack of enthusiasm. Fortunately I see Louis standing next to Victoire and Teddy, compulsory glass of champagne already in his hand.

I don't waste time stealing said glass.

"Rose Weasley," Teddy smiles brightly, handsome as ever and this time sporting blue hair, "Stealing liquor? You'll never change, will you?"

I pour the drink down my throat and then proceed to formulate a reply. "If only I got a galleon for each time someone told me that..."

"You do change," Victoire remarks, "you look prettier every time I see you."

Says the Veela chick who could easily win every pageant in the area and further.

"Aw, you warm my heart."

Victoire smirks, "You don't have a heart."

Truth is, I like Victoire. She's funny as hell and she's good chums with her little brother – and Louis's friends are my friends. Unfortunately she's never been around much, because she and Teddy are joined at the hip (somewhere along the lines of fourth and fifth year they became Siamese twins) and they've been travelling since they got out of Hogwarts.

"At least she didn't sell it to her boyfriend," Louis says, coughing in his hand.

Victoire is obviously dying to respond, but is interrupted by said boyfriend, "Look, Rose. Your fans."

I turn around to see who he's aiming at.

A tremendously annoyed looking Astoria and Draco Malfoy.

"Mr and Mrs Malfoy," I nod politely, cocking my head in question.

"Ms Weasley," Draco drawls, and then, snidely, "with an ever present stash of alcohol, I see. My, my."

"Draco!" Astoria exclaims admonishingly.

Fully prepared to engage myself in a battle of wits with the Master of Sarcasm, I look at Astoria in all seriousness. "It's okay, Ms Malfoy. He is only a child."

"The hilarity that is you," he says laconically, without cracking the slightest of a grin. "Now, where in Merlin's name is my son?"

Scorpius looks so much like him, it's uncanny. And yet, there is something so much less rigid about the younger Malfoy's face, something so much more likeable, that proves he is also Astoria's son.

"I don't know," I shrug. "Admiring the table wear, probably."

"We can't find him anywhere," Astoria says, ignoring my jab.

"And the idiot is supposed to exchange his vows _in an hour_," Draco adds, scowling.

As on a cue, an hysteric voice is heard on the background.

Lily is walking towards us hastily, her dress flowing in the wind. She looks striking – of course she does – and yet, utterly out of element. This might have to do with her missing fiancé, but then again, maybe that's just me.

"_Rose_!" she screeches.

Louis sighs and I do too.

Here we go.

"Where the fuck is Scorpius?" she yells, close to tearing her hair out. "He was supposed to be here _two hours ago_."

I notice Astoria rewarding her with a condemning look for language, and Draco visibly refraining himself from spewing a comment at her.

"As I said," I answer, "I have no idea."

"Bloody _bastard_!"

I smile inwardly and gracefully let Lily continue to make a fool out of herself in front of her future in-laws. She has clearly failed to make the observation that the Malfoys are very big on composure at all costs.

For a moment, I am truly amazed by her ever absent deduction skills.

"There, there," I say soothingly.

To his credit, Louis looks highly amused. I want to high-five him, but manage to contain myself.

"We have to look for him, Rose," she says desperately, "Everyone has to look for him!"

"What? No," I say quickly.

"She's right," I hear Mum interrupting all of a sudden.

That bitch.

Remind me to change my last name when I get back to the States.

She looks genuinely worried, and puts a comforting hand on Lily's shoulder. I wonder where Ginny is, but figure she and Harry are probably already running around like a pair of headless chickens.

"Fuck this," I mutter, shove my glass in Louis's hand, and then, loudly, "I'll look for him, okay? I know where he might be."

Dear self, why are you digging your own grave?

_Because_, my conscience responds, _you've been digging that of others your entire life._

"I'm coming with you," Louis and Lily both say.

I shake my head.

"No. I'll do this on my own."

* * *

I find the boy with shadows looming over him. His robes are – no surprise there – black as the night, the emerald buttons on his sleeves glistening in the sunlight. As always, he looks brilliant – so brilliant I want to gauge my eyes out, because, well, cheers to the bloke, I realised I have actual human feelings. It pains me that I'm the one fetching him, whereas I would pay a gazillion galleons for him to dissolve in thin air for a while – and then suddenly appear again, cleared from all that Lily Brainwashing.

But, alas.

I stroll towards him, holding up my dress, and clear my throat loudly, "Playing hide and seek at Stonehenge?"

Scorpius tenses visibly. Without turning around, he mumbles, "What the fuck?"

"Aren't you supposed to be, like, at a wedding or something?" I say sardonically, positioning myself in front of him so he can't look past me.

He frowns, looking disturbed. "How did you know – "

"_Please_," I cut him off. "You're not as enigmatic as you'd like to think, Scorpius Malfoy."

He sighs deeply and it is only now I notice the circles under his eyes. Sleep hasn't welcomed him with open arms, that much is obvious as plain day-light.

"How are things out there?"

"In the jungle?" I smile humourlessly. "Oh, I don't know. For one, your _bride_ is freaking out."

He curses under his breath, and a passing desperation crosses his face. It is almost unreal how this week, I've seen his emotional range stretching in more directions than in all those years I spent with him in Hogwarts. He's been relieved, stressed, furious, passionate, honest, and now?

Now he just looks sad.

Like a lost little boy.

The last time I saw him like this, was the last time I visited this place.

"Rose," he begins tentatively, "I don't know what's happening to me."

"They have a term for it," I aid helpfully. "It's called _cold feet_."

"I'm not in the mood for your witticisms, Weasley," he all but snaps.

I don't give the slightest flinch. If he wants to instigate a storm, then I shall be ready to weather it.

"Don't be a bitch," I comment in a joking tone, but his face is all earnestness. "Okay. Spill it. What's on your mind?"

He groans and baffles me when he exclaims, "She's never read _Orwell_, Rose!"

"But – " I close my eyes momentarily, wondering why on earth I'm putting myself out there. "But you said that didn't matter."

"I lied, okay?" he spits. "Of course it fucking matters."

"You're just scared."

He looks at me intensely, "I never equated fear and insecurity."

"I know," I say, narrowing my eyes. "It just takes a real coward to leave Lily hanging like that."

He snorts. "Says the girl who has the art of abandonment mastered perfectly."

"This is not about me, Scorpius."

"Jesus," he says in a voice like acid. "Since when? Since when is it _ever_ not about you?"

On the verge losing my patience, I grind my teeth. "Will you fucking stop?"

"Two days ago, you were at my house, begging me not to marry her," he shakes his head in disbelief. "And now you're here, convincing me otherwise. Then again, you've always had a knack for sending mixed signals."

"Cut it out."

Anger is slowly starting to stir in my gut.

"No, I won't," he sneers. "If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't even _be_ here. You messed me up _again_."

I gasp, "Stop blaming me for everything that is wrong in your life!"

"You're _all_ that's ever been wrong in my life!"

"That's completely unfair, and – "

He cuts me off harshly, "Every time I'm about to become happy, you're right around the corner, ready to _ruin_ it!"

"Are you _finished_?" I cry out, seething. "Or do you want to kick me down some more? Huh? Are you getting sadistic pleasure out of this or _what_?"

"Yes, Rose. That's exactly it."

Icy sarcasm.

Lovely.

"I don't want you to marry her," I hiss. "I'm here because I care about you. They're going to eat you alive if you don't show up. We used to be a team, remember? I'm not the antagonist in your story, yeah?"

I expect him to say many things. Shout some more, maybe. Give me the cold shoulder. Make me feel worse than I already do. But he remains silent, and the way he studies me makes me grow fidgety and uneasy, like my ego is about to shrink to the size of zero under his concentrated gaze.

"I'm sorry," he eventually brings out.

I do a double-take. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats, sincerely. "I know I've been a prick to you all week."

I think we might have a case with a bipolar disorder.

"Right you are."

I want to be properly pissed off, but I'm not. Not really. I broke his heart and came back to screw up his wedding – I'm so annoyed with myself I hardly have any serious anger left for anyone else. I find myself rapidly gaining composure, knowing that this is not really him.

The real Scorpius is the one who brought me dead flowers for Valentine's day.

The real Scorpius is the one who slept with me and said I had the best legs in the world.

The real Scorpius is the one who sent me Owls in the middle of the night to tell me which chapter he'd just read in some stupid book.

The real Scorpius is _not_ the one who hates me.

And I'll be _damned_ if that person faded out without me witnessing it.

"I bottled up all this bitterness, you see," said boy clarifies in a neutralised tone, "I suppose it has culminated and brought me here."

I nod apprehensively. "I'm sorry too, you know, for everything. For taking you on double-dates, for mocking you, for – for leaving you like it meant nothing. For being all that's wrong in your life."

"I didn't mean that," he immediately intervenes. "You _were_ my life, and it was good, for the most part."

Relief spreads through me like wildfire. "Yeah."

"I'm just," he pauses, inhales deeply, "I'm just so confused, you know?"

"Don't do to Lily what I did to you," I reply, non-aggressively, with subtle persuasion. "You have to talk to her."

He stares at the ground in defeat. "Yeah..."

"You can still decide." I take his hand. "I'll see you through, okay? We can Apparate together."

He shifts his eyes from the ground to our connected hands. "Alright."

"Scorpius?"

"Mm?"

"You reckon we'll be okay?"

He tightens his grip and looks at me straight.

"I hope so."

* * *

"Say _what_?"

Louis, with a frown wrinkling his forehead, folds his arms.

"What did you want me to do?" I huff. "Send him in the wrong direction?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "That's _exactly_ what you did. Now, can you Accio that corkscrew, please?"

"I just told him to talk to her, nothing more."

I take my wand out of my purse and follow his wishes. The corkscrew flies our way and lands on Louis's feet. We are sitting with our backs pressed against a wall of the building where no one can see us. Louis, a true friend, has managed to steal a bottle of very fancy champagne, which we are about to crack.

What else are weddings for?

I've always been The Drunk Niece That Flirts With The Bartender.

No reason to change that now.

"They've been in that stupid room for an _hour_, Rose," he says pointedly. "What do you reckon they're doing? Engaging in one hell of a make-up shag?"

"Gee." Like a professional, I get rid of the cork with only a soft _pop_ to be heard. "If only all my friends were as considerate as you are."

"Well, if there's one thing she's probably good at, it's _that_."

I take a sip. "Maybe she has herp – " I suddenly spot someone entering my line of vision. "Hey, is that...?"

He turns to me in agony. "Fuck."

For the second time today, Lily is running towards us, again with the dress flowing in the wind. When she comes closer, I notice mascara streaks running down her cheeks, resulting in a not so very marvellous picture. Louis squeezes my arm encouragingly, apparently getting the same, obvious message.

"You – " she sniffles when she arrives. "I _hate_ you!"

Surprised, I blink. "Sorry?"

"He doesn't want to marry me anymore!" She yells, looking down on us with a furious expression marring her otherwise beautiful features.

Not knowing what to say, I form a comprehensive 'O' with my mouth.

"_Right_ after you've come to visit, Rose," she roars, "right _then_ he begins to doubt me! Why does it always have to be _you_?"

"Did he _say_ it was me?"

"He didn't have to," she bites.

I wonder if she's going to hex me – because, I mean, I could take her – but she doesn't appear to have her wand with her. Instead – and I'm not making this up, I swear to you, I'm not – she leans forward, and she actually fucking _spits_ on me.

I am so caught off guard my reflexes freeze completely.

"I can't – " she bursts into tears, "I can't even look at you."

And then, as soon as she came, she vanishes again.

She turns her heel and storms off.

I call out her name, but she ignores me entirely. I want to get up, but change my mind as I understand there's nothing I could say to embellish the truth – the truth, after all, is not to be embellished, ever. So I let her go, Scourgify my dress, and then – then something dawns on me.

Louis and I exchange significant looks.

"He's not... going to marry her?"

Louis nods slowly.

"That's what she said."

Our eyes widen in shared, stark realisation, and I feel something blossoming in my chest.

Something so strong it momentarily cuts off all my oxygen.

"Rose," Louis says, with a smile reaching behind his ears. "He's not going to marry her!"

I scan the close environment to check if anyone's looking.

And then I jump up, pull Louis with me, and throw my arms around him.

I remember this one time, when I was sixteen. My parents got me a book – special edition, Rowena Ravenclaw's Magical World of Secrets – that Dad found way too expensive, after I nagged and whined about it for literally five months. I couldn't find it in the school library, but had read about it in the Malfoy library (in a book about Salazar Slytherin – apparently they had a fling at some point, or something) and had hankered after it ever since.

I was so happy I squealed for the entire Great Hall.

There were those times I got better marks than Scorpius did, or when I outplayed him in Wizarding Chess. There were those days I got a nice new pair of shoes, or attended great parties, or dodged yet another detention, or managed to manipulate yet another boy into doing things for me, or purchased a super cool magical object in Uncle George's store, or – you know. Good stuff.

But there were never times like these.

Times when I, like I do now, hug Louis tight, and dance with him, on the grass of a failed wedding.

"They're not getting maaarried," I sing, "they're not getting maaarried!"

Louis, beaming, puts the bottle on my lips. "Let's celebrate!"

"I should feel guilty, you know," I comment, drinking in the mean time. "I mean, fuck, she's family."

"Yeah," he says. "And he's the love of your life. Let's _celebrate_."

I oblige.

And yet, even when the liquor roams together with euphoria in my stomach, I can't shake the little voice gnawing at my conscience.

Lily, after all, is family.

And Scorpius, well, he's not with her.

But he's not here either.

"Do you reckon he'll come to see me before I leave tomorrow?"

Louis takes the champagne from me. "If he doesn't, I'll hex him."

I extend my pinky, and in a baby voice I ask, "Pinky swear?"

"Bloody hell," Louis laughs.

I can't help but join in.

* * *

Later, when all guests are gone, and Louis and I are close to seeing double, Mum comes to fetch us.

"Were you talking about 'The Lady in the Looking-Glass' earlier?" she asks me on the way home.

I don't reply.

And _that's _when Hermione Granger-Weasley finally gets it.

* * *

Until next time

Josephinee


	9. The Aftermath

Sorry for the delay! I have a really difficult exam coming up Monday, and I can you tell you this:  
I sincerely hope my writing is better than my knowledge of Middle Dutch grammar.

BYYY THE WAY: I wrote a one-shot in the mean time (read: found an old document I decided to put up on this site)

**Disclaimer**: no copyright infringement intended. J.K. Rowling owns.

* * *

_Turning back for home  
You know I'm feeling so alone  
I can't believe  
Climbing on the stair  
I turn around to see you smiling there  
In front of me_

David Gray – Babylon

* * *

**THE AFTERMATH**

The mood at the Monday morning breakfast table is awfully chatty.

"Rose – "

That's Mum.

"No."

That's me – busy preparing a new hangover potion since we ran out of stock.

Silence befalls our family for the third time in fifteen minutes. Hugo, ignorant as ever, keeps his eyes fixed on a letter – from the Delacroix girl, I bet – and Dad is being Dad, lazily reading the Daily Prophet's Senior Quidditch Correspondent page. Mum, on the other hand, has come up with a new ultimate goal – burning peepholes through my head due to excessively scrutinising stares, that is. Responding with utter disinterest, I only pay heed to the ingredients in front of me. Not that I really need to – I mean, I know this potion inside out. I've brewed it so many times I could probably do it in my sleep.

"Rose," Mum says sternly. "You don't expect me to _spare_ you because you consumed way too much liquor yesterday, do you?"

Watching how the purple liquid starts to bubble, I continue to ignore her.

"_Ronald_," Mum hisses, "Tell her to listen!"

Dad looks up from his paper and cocks his head. "Rose, you have to listen to your mother."

The way it comes out shows that he absolutely does not mean it. The only times Dad gets mad at me is when I a) mock his favourite Quidditch team, b) steal his food, and c) ... well, there is no c). He used to get annoyed at my boyfriends as well, because, you know, every father suffers from the delusion that his daughter's virginity is something holy and every boy is a rival in the field. But then, when I got older and moved to America, he stopped thinking of himself as a knight protecting my virtue, and he became much cooler. I mean, I have a really cool father. He's like, sarcastic and laidback most of the time. Not as sarcastic as Mr Malfoy, but, you know. Cool all the same.

"It was _you_, wasn't it?" Mum says then, and it sounds so accusing my temper immediately flares.

"About _what_?"

"Lily and Scorpius," she elaborates with a fleeting satisfied expression. "You said something, didn't you?"

Luckily the potion's finished.

That's the only good thing about this moment.

"Does it matter?"

"Whether you were the person to make Lily unhappy or not?" Mum says pointedly. "Of course it does."

Curing myself with a few sips, the cutting headache slowly vanishes. I instantly feel a lot better – and a lot more prepared to fight this battle.

"What are you suggesting?" I narrow my eyes. "That I put Scorpius under the Imperius Curse and told him to dump his bride on their wedding?"

Mum titters, "You changed his mind, because you were jealous."

"No one can change Scorpius's mind unless he himself wants it to be changed," I shoot back.

"So you admit it?"

By now, Dad and Hugo's attention is attracted.

"You know," I scowl, "for a bunch of Gryffindors you're all terribly stupid, aren't you? Now you're going to get mad at me for _making Lily unhappy_, but do you really think they would've had an happy ending otherwise?"

Both being Gryffindors, they now look terribly offended.

"It is not your _place_," Mum exclaims.

"He's my best friend!" I object. "And I was the only one _brave_ enough to point out the obvious."

"And who are you to assume what is the obvious?"

"Oh come on," I snicker, "you didn't honestly think they were right for each other, did you?"

She purses her lips. "You can drop the tone, young lady."

"Jesus," I roll my eyes. "You started it."

"You need to apologise to Lily," she states, dismissing my comment.

"What?" I blink. "What _for_? I wasn't the one screwing her over yesterday. That was Scorpius."

Furrowing her brow, Mum says, "No, but you were the one engaging in a drinking party with Louis while she was crying her eyes out."

"Well, I didn't have a groom running out on me, so, you know. It makes sense to me."

"Tell me, Rose," she says in that know-it-all voice of hers. "Did you put that sharp tongue of yours to use when you tried to convince him not to marry her?"

Not in the mood to lie, I directly reply, "I put my sharp tongue to use for everything, Mum."

"Do you love him?"

Dad and Hugo exchange meaningful looks.

"Yes," I respond, without flinching.

"Does he love you?"

"I don't know. But what I do know, is that he doesn't really love _her_."

"Did you see him last night?"

"Bloody hell," I groan. "Are we doing a reconstruction of the Spanish Inquisition?"

This earns me a significant glare. "Well?"

"No," I say bitingly, glaring right back, "I didn't."

It's true.

Louis and I got wasted beyond our wits last night, racing through at least three champagne bottles, expecting Scorpius to show up – but he never did. By the time we realised he wasn't going to either, we were both way too drunk to Apparate properly and thus, unable to try and find him. I woke up this morning so miserable I threw up three times, and it was around the second time memories began flooding back. Between the jumbling mess of dancing and singing and Louis, it hit me that Scorpius had failed to come by.

Cheers, mate.

It's not that I'm leaving today or anything.

"So you didn't win anything either, did you?"

"Stellar observation, Mum," I say bitterly. "Pleased now?"

Even though she does seem appeased for a moment, she indignantly says, "Of course not, I'm your mother. I want to see you happy. I just want you to fix things with Lily before you leave!"

"If I go to visit Lily, will you promise never to bring this up again?"

"Fine," she says, folding her arms. "But you better fix it!"

"Good luck," Hugo adds, stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth.

"Maybe you could buy a set of make-up," Dad suggests helpfully. "That should calm her anger?"

I laugh and stand up.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

When Lily opens the door, she looks like she could use some make-up indeed.

"Rose," she says, no smile whatsoever. "What the hell?"

Everything about her – from her sagging shoulder to her pale skin to her dead-sounding voice – screams dejection. It is as if all colour has left her, and she steps aside to let me in without the smallest attempt to yell at me first. It's a disconcerting sight, but I try not to let it bother me too much and walk inside Lily's apartment.

"We need to talk this through," I justify my presence.

We walk through the hall way and end up in her kitchen, where the smell of strong tea hangs in the air. Her curtains are still half-closed; the room bathes in a sort of orange light. Obviously, Lily isn't ready to accept the day for what it is just yet.

"Why do you care?"

"Because we're family," I say matter-of-factly, taking a chair and feeling awkward for doing so.

She keeps silent for a minute and pours the tea in her cup. She doesn't offer me anything, but I can hardly blame her. When she's done, she sits down as well, and looks at me with a contemplating frown.

"Let's not kid ourselves," she utters. "We both care more about Scorpius than we care about each other, don't we?"

"Yes," I reply without hesitating. "We do. But we can't afford to hate each other, Lils."

"Don't call me – " but she comes to a halt mid-sentence, and then picks up the thread again. "I don't hate you, Rose. I just hate that he loves you."

"He said he didn't anymore, you know," I confess, quietly.

Her eyes widen slightly. "Oh."

"Yeah," I shrug.

I wait for her to say something, but she doesn't. She merely sips from her tea and stares into space, looking frailer than I've ever seen her. Something tugs at my heart, and an unfamiliar surge of overwhelming guilt hitches in my throat.

"Look," I speak up. "I can't promise you anything when it comes to him, okay? He is the only man I have ever loved, Lily. And if that's how you feel about him too, well... then I guess you can't promise me anything either."

Her eyes trail back to me. "Why did you lie to me the whole time?"

"About what? Being okay with you and him?"

She nods.

"Because it's easier. It's easier to lie and hide than to come clean," I say, and that's the first time I've said this to anyone, even myself. "And I was angry with you too."

"Because I went after Scorpius?"

"Yeah."

I then spot the wedding dress lying over the couch, wrinkled and dumped. It occurs to me that if he managed to crush Lily's usual spirit like this – like she's almost a different person – that she must honestly love him, and the more I realise this, the more I want to fix things with her.

"I never meant to hurt you," I claim, but it's a blatant lie.

"Sure you did," she counters. "You wanted to _steal_ him. How could you ever avoid hurting me in the process?"

That effectively shuts me up.

Instead of answering directly, I come up with a story my mother once told me. It was about two friends, going for a trip in the desert. For some reason, they got into a fight, and one punched the other in the face. The violated one didn't retaliate, but merely wrote the following in the sand: _My best friend just punched me in the face. _Later, they stumbled upon an oasis, and the guy nearly drowned. His friend – the one who punched him – saved him, and as a response, he carved into a stone: _My best friend just saved me from drowning. _The friend then asked: "Why did you write the first sentence in the sand and the latter in a stone?" To which the other replied: "Because my anger fades away easily, and it's the good things that count."

It was a story about forgiveness, and I hated it.

I have no idea why, but I end up telling it to Lily.

"You got that shitty story from Aunt Hermione, didn't you?" She asks, a half-smile playing on her lips.

"I did," I admit, laughing. "I know it's stupid, but, you know..."

"Yeah," she says softly.

"I don't hate you either, Lils," I continue. "I'm just... pissed off. And so are you. But at the end of the day, you're still my cousin. That should count for something, shouldn't it?"

A flicker of doubt passes in her eyes. She opens her mouth, closes it again, and then stands up in a fit of indecisiveness.

"Do you..." she trails off, seems troubled, but she regains her concentration quickly, with a newfound sense of confidence. "Do you want some tea?"

Cautiously, I smile. "I'd love some tea, but I have to go."

She shrugs, "Okay." and waits for me to get up. "You know the way out, right?"

"Yeah."

And it's not really fine, because, when it comes down to it, we're after the same man. But I leave with my head held high, and she watches me go with a hesitant expression, like she's wondering if maybe we're not opponents in this game. Like she realises we're both on the dirty loser side, with no light at the end of the tunnel, and that she's not the only one miserable. The only problem is – seeing her rubs salt in my wound, and seeing me does the same for her.

Which is why she doesn't see me out and why there is nothing but the all consuming silence in the hall when the door clicks shut.

* * *

It's ten o'clock, and time has come to go.

I came, I saw, and I lost.

I spent the entire afternoon picking out grass with Louis, reflecting on our failure and making jokes to lighten the mood. We considered opening up another bottle of champagne, but mutually decided we would be pushing it, and, more importantly (because, really, who cares about pushing it anyway?), I wouldn't be able to Apparate properly. And I kind of need to get to the States tonight, so, you know. That would be pretty inconvenient. Instead we played six games of Wizarding Chess in a row – each of which I won – and insulted Scorpius just for the sake of it.

For the sake of not turning up, that is.

Since – and you probably guessed this, because otherwise you'd be kind of a moron – he didn't.

I packed my bags efficiently, and took some pictures off my wall while I was at it. Scorpius's smirking face no longer felt comforting, so I resorted to tearing it apart – until I caught myself, and realised what I was actually doing. I snapped out of my broken teenager behaviour and glued the photos with a flick of my wand. I stored them away in one of my drawers and went out of my room not knowing what this meant.

Mum said she was sorry my heart got broken, even went as far as drawing comparisons between me and Scorpius and her and Dad. She gave me a tight hug and told me to write more often. Dad promised me he'd keep Mum's neurotic tendencies in check. Hugo was being his clueless self and while exchanging our goodbyes, he was busy composing a letter to Amy Delacroix. I took off with all my stuff, and I only asked Louis to wave me out.

Which leaves us here, at the end.

"I'll hex him," Louis claims. "Like, to the bloody pulp."

I laugh softly, "Unfortunately he'd probably win a duel."

"Who says Slytherins are the only ones able to cheat?"

"Good point," I grin widely.

Louis grins along, but it falters rather quickly. "I would hug you, but I don't want you to go."

"I wish you'd go with me," I pout, the pit in my stomach growing.

"You know I can't," he says regretfully. "But I'll visit you when I can and I'll keep you posted on the family, okay?"

"God, it pains me to say this, but I'll miss you to death."

"You having a heart is a concept I'm still getting used to, Rosie," he says, but he puts his arms around me all the same. "But Merlin knows I'll miss you too."

And then, we hold on to each other for ten more minutes, after which I'm just about ready to cry. I take a step backwards, rub my eyes, refrain him from making a comment about me getting soft by glaring, and give him a last peck on the cheek before Apparating.

See you later, Louis.

See you later, England.

See you maybe never, Scorpius.

* * *

So here I am.

Five minutes later, dizzy and nauseous from long-distance Apparation, standing straight in front of my all too familiar apartment building in New York City, with my mood plummeting right below sea level, sinking and sinking and sinking and finally hitting rock bottom when I get to my front door and understand that this is it.

This is _it._

I'm back.

Alone.

Fucking hell.

With distress holding its iron grip around my throat, I raise my hand to touch the doorknob – it recognises the fact that I'm a Witch. I part my lips to utter the password – 'Crookshanks'.

But then the door opens right in the middle of my actions.

Nearly giving me a bloody heart attack.

"What the f – "

The word dies, but not because it's inappropriate.

I am completely shell-shocked.

Shot in catatonic state.

Rendered totally speechless.

"Jesus Christ, did you make a detour through _Namibia_?"

I am brought back to earth by the sharp, smooth voice I've come to know so well.

"What – "

"Seriously," Scorpius continues undisturbed, ignoring my dumbstruck expression, "I've been here since noon. I thought you were leaving in the morning."

He takes my bags from me, like the gentleman he can be, and carries them to the sofa. I suppose this is meant to make some kind of statement, since he could easily move them with his wand. I'm still too blown away to react, and merely stare at him while he walks around.

"But," I manage to bring out, "you could've returned. Apparation only takes two minutes at best."

He snorts disbelievingly. "I had to throw up when I got here. I'm traumatised."

"Cry baby."

"Am not."

"Am too."

"Am _not_."

"Am _too_."

Then he shuts up and, for the first time, really looks at me.

A shiver runs down my spine because of his piercing gaze. The world is momentarily reduced to the tension swarming back and forth between blue and grey and the deafening silence that carries itself out due to this unsettling occurrence.

"So," I say.

"So," he replies.

I shake my head, "What's going on?"

"I'm... here," he says, cryptically.

Normally I'd roll my eyes, but I don't feel the urge now. "What for?"

"To check out your carpet," he states matter-of-factly. "For _you_, of course."

"But... why?"

I'm not interested in being witty, or smart, or impressing him in any way. We are far beyond that stage, and at this point the only thing I really desire is an answer.

My heart won't survive another hour of this nerve-wracking conversation.

It feels like it might explode any second.

"Because," he says, and looks away, almost shyly, "I was unhappy yesterday, and I started reading this book. You know how reading helps to calm me down." I nod in confirmation. "And it suddenly came to me... The epiphany that no one ever writes books about relationships that come easy, you know?"

"Yeah," I all but whisper.

"Because they're boring. They're just really bloody boring when it comes down to it," he continues, shifting his attention from the floor to me. "They don't keep you on your toes."

I wait for him to go on, inhaling deeply.

"But _you_..." he sighs, and I half-expect him to stop right then and there. But he doesn't, and he begins again, his voice now forceful, "_You_ keep me on my toes. You are worth writing about – and if that doesn't mean anything in our world, Rose, then maybe nothing means anything at all. Whenever I'm with you, I have this _feeling_, this feeling that, if the world would end, it wouldn't be so bad, because I'd know that with you, I _lived_. Like, properly. Like we always imagined."

I don't know what this feeling is now.

I don't waste time. I take a step in his direction and kiss him, with so much _absoluteness_ we almost fall backwards.

"Scorpius," I gasp against his lips, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

And maybe it's not a good idea. Because he pulls back and looks at me in wonder, baffled and – taken aback?

A whirlwind of insecurity and hope manifests itself on my face.

"Oh shit," I say, ready to hit myself, "I'm sor – "

"_Rose_," he cuts me off immediately, harshly. He puts his index finger on my mouth, keeps it there while he rummages in his pocket with his other hand. "Hold on."

He then proceeds to take out a little black box.

My eyes widen to the size of a Bludger.

"Oh my – "

But when he opens it, I abruptly start laughing.

"A plastic ring? _Really_?"

He smiles brightly, causing my heart to do a summersault. "I got it from one of those Muggle things. What's it called?"

"_Vending machines_?" I cock an eyebrow.

"Right," he rubs the back of his head nonchalantly, smile growing. "So today I was thinking, the idea of marriage was exceptionally stupid, yeah?"

I move my head up and down virulently.

"I thought, let's go back to where everything was _fun_, with you," he says, and reaches for my hand. "And then I saw these rings – I had to Charm the damn machine before it gave me what I wanted, by the way – and..." he takes my left hand ring finger, and puts on the ring, "I wanted to mock it. Like we always did. Remember our anti-Valentine cards?"

I look at my hand and then at him. "Yeah. So this is like a symbol of all we are, and all we are not?"

"Exactly!" he says enthusiastically. "I realised we should celebrate being different – we should celebrate not getting married or having a dog, or having a house with a few trees in the yard... it is why I love you, and it is why I'm – "

"Scorpius," I interrupt him, my cheeks flushed. "You _love_ me?"

"I never _stopped_," he exclaims, grabbing my shoulders. "You fucked me over, but I know that something in you changed. And I can _see_ that. I'd be blind if I didn't."

This is officially the first time someone has said this to me – ever.

Rose Weasley apparently does not change according to the rest of the world.

"But you were so _angry_."

"I was," he shakes me softly. "But there you were, Friday, on my doorstep, stripped bare of all your nonsense, and yesterday, when I was about to go down that stupid altar, I understood, finally, that you weren't out to get me. You were being _sincere_."

"Scorpius," I repeat, my knees nearly buckling. "Kiss me."

And he does.

With fire and conviction and it is the sweetest feeling in the world, his body pressed against mine closely but not nearly close enough. I love the way he tastes, and the way he smells, and the way I feel funny when he tells me – when he tells me _he loves me still_.

It is nice to know that some things never change.

Like there's still some certainty in the world.

Funny thing is, of course, that I never wanted that certainty – but when it comes to Scorpius, I learned I do now. So I kiss him harder, and he responds immediately.

"I would love to be your wife," I mumble, my hands running through his hair.

"Oh," he says, a smirk breaking free, "are you going to cook for me then?"

"If you want to be poisoned," I sing-song, grabbing his arm and twirling around.

"Rose," he says, coming to a standstill, his features the epitome of earnestness "I would like for you to be my non-wife."

Smiling so widely my face might break in two, my chest is filled with pleasure at the comprehension that my best friend – my best friend as I knew him – is back.

Happiness presents itself so blatantly, so overwhelmingly, I want to scream.

And then he pulls me closer again.

We stand there, for at least thirty more minutes, kissing like two sixteen-year-olds discovering their sexuality, and it hits me.

I know I have to die sometime – and this would be ridiculously good moment.

Because I doubt I'll ever be more alive or complete than I am now.

"Scorpius?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll try not to screw you over again."

He smiles, again.

"Me neither."

* * *

"It's raining," fifteen-year-old Scorpius said, "and you want to jump in the fucking _lake_?"

It wasn't raining – I mean, it was, but not really. If you looked really closely you could see circles forming, like spirals, on the surface of the water, but we weren't standing in a downpour or anything. I turned to Scorpius and smiled widely, taking off my robe and pulling my sweater over my head.

"You're a pussy."

"And you're all sorts of brilliant," Scorpius replied, almost caustically.

I paid no heed to his sarcasm. The clouds were darkening, grey was gliding in front of the sun. I wanted to get this over with – I wanted to start the year in proper fashion, like it would become epochal, like something would shift. Like it'd be a year worth living.

"Don't you want to feel alive?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "I just don't think you realise how much you need your health for that."

I shot back, "I don't think you have any idea how little I care."

He merely made a huffing sound – the baby – and watched me undress. He didn't think I'd do it – he didn't think I'd strip down to my bra and panties, because I heard him gasp slightly when I lost my trousers and kicked off my shoes.

"Come on," I said, extending my hand. "If I can't jump into the lake with my best friend, then who's there?"

"Best friend?" He echoed, an element of warm bafflement in his voice. When I rewarded him with a look that screamed Of Fucking Course, he smirked, "I'm touched."

"I'm your best friend too, you know."

"Well, if you say so. But if I'm infected with germs, our friendship will be in jeopardy," he stated, but his snobby demeanour faltered slightly. We exchanged a significant look – our unspoken loyalty packed in a fleeting expression – and I felt something change. He followed my example and revealed his pale chest in no time, silently daring me to rub my victory in his face.

I did not.

"Sometimes," I said instead, "you just got to dive in."

His hand enclosed mine, squeezing it softly.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "On the count of three. One, two – "

And then I was drowned out by my own surprised scream as Scorpius took a step forward.

On the count of three, we had already dived in.

* * *

So this is it for Caring is Creepy. Hopefully you enjoyed the story - I know I enjoyed your reviews and will do so now!

Josephine


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